


Sirens

by cherryvanillaaa



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Horror, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love/Hate, Male-Female Friendship, Morals, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, On the Run, Original Character(s), Partners in Crime, Perversion, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Serial Killers, Sex, Stalking, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:51:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanillaaa/pseuds/cherryvanillaaa
Summary: Alternate ending of VII; Detective Mark Hoffman is on the loose, having blown up his workshop to destroy any remaining evidence of his role in the Jigsaw murders. Upon fleeing the scene, he discovers a body at the edge of the property, which will turn out to cause more trouble for him than he anticipated. Let the game begin.





	1. Prologue: Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> "...The sirens that you're hearing ain't the Five-O,  
> I'm that siren on the track."  
> ~ 'Sirens' - Kat Dahlia

     The air was brisk outside the old warehouse; as soon as he inhaled it chased away all trace of the smell of gasoline in his nostrils. He probably smelled like the substance himself, among other things, but for now it went unnoticed by his own nose. It was a good thing he lived alone, he'd mused more than once. It would have been difficult to come up with explanations every time he returned to the apartment smelling of chemicals, metal, _blood_. Sometimes it was his own, sometimes it wasn't. Right now it was a mixture of both, though most of it was not his own. He'd killed a lot of people tonight, and it was all to protect his identity. He'd managed to get away with playing both sides for a long while, but not nearly as long as he'd hoped. He'd known they would end up coming for him sooner or later.

     It was pointless to think about how lucky he was to live alone in his apartment now, though. He wouldn't be going back there. He noted this as he purposefully strode towards the only car in the dirt lot, the building going up in flames behind him with a thundering  _boom_. 

     Mark Hoffman stepped up to the car he'd purchased on the side; an old '02 Grand Cherokee, navy blue like the night. It would draw no attention, which was what he had banked on. He'd already taken the precaution of packing things he would need; only necessities. On top of his change of clothes sat his gun, loaded and ready. _That_ he planned on keeping. He'd burned all other evidence of his Detective status that he carried on him - all ashes in the fire by now. 

     Hoffman felt even more now, as he swung himself into the vehicle, that the stitches in his right cheek were tearing. Unsurprising, considering the exertion of the past few hours. He'd made Jill pay for that, he thought with resolve as he started the vehicle. He'd made her pay by doing to her what she'd tried to do to him, and then some. He'd never actually seen the reverse bear trap in action, and upon seeing what it had done to a once pretty face, he didn't particularly care to see it again. Though it definitely felt better to watch it than experience it firsthand like he almost had. He'd have this scar on his cheek for the rest of his life to prove it. _Dumb bitch_ , he thought, starting the car hurriedly. _And her dumb bastard husband too, for thinking he could best me. Damn you, John Kramer._ The old man thought he could let him in on this legacy of insanity; allow him to be a part of it, encourage him to create his own legacy branching off of it... and then take it all away. Fuck all of them if they thought they could lie to him and get away with it. Even John Kramer. As he drove through the lot, he could hear the original Jigsaw's voice in his mind: _I didn't lie to you, I despise liars._ He could hear him making excuses, justifying his actions as he always did. _This was your final test, Detective Hoffman. I had to make sure I could trust you. But I can't._

     Hoffman wanted to spit out the blood draining into the right side of his mouth, but didn't want to leave any more traces of his being there than he had to. It was fucking nasty though. Resigned, he spat it out on the floor of the passenger side. He'd just have to burn the car, too.

     _Could've trusted me till you tried to kill me,_ he thought once again as he reached the edge of the property. _You brought this on yourself._

     He was about to turn off and leave the whole damn place in the dust when something caught his eye. On the ground a little ways off was a body, twisted and mangled on the ground. A light mist rose from the blood coating almost every surface, which meant it hadn't been there that long. The blood was still warm enough to cause condensation in the air. From where he was he didn't recognize the body, but he could tell it had only been dead for a little while, about an hour or two tops. Hoffman stopped the car against his better judgement, the cop part of him curious, but wary. Whoever it was wasn't wearing a police uniform - in fact he couldn't really tell what they were wearing. They were half buried in a pile of dirt amongst the wreckage in the junkyard. Upon looking more closely, leaning towards the window of the car, he saw light hair spilling out of one of the piles of dirt. Hoffman was not a squeamish man; he had seen many a dead body, and had done his fair share of doling them out as well. But something about the hair sent a chill up his spine. It reminded him of how his sister's hair had looked when her head hung off the edge of her bed after her throat had been cut; dangling lifelessly, lacking all luster it had formerly held. He squashed the thought where it began, but leaned closer to the window to get a better look at the body, his mind already trying to come up with possible cause of death.

     A pig mask with a head of black hair pushed up against the outside of the window, and Hoffman jumped back with a shout. The assailant smashed the window with a black crowbar, scattering the glass all over the interior of the front seat, littering his legs with shards. Quick as lightning, Hoffman reached into his bag on the passenger seat and pulled out his gun, whipping around and firing the weapon. He shot a hole straight through the nose of the mask, the person dead instantly. The body barely had time to crumple to the ground before his foot pressed the pedal to the floor and tore out of the lot, kicking up dirt along with speed.


	2. Falling Away from Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Screaming so sound  
> Beating me, beating me  
> Down, down  
> Into the ground..."  
> ~ 'Falling Away from Me' - Korn

     It was really hard to open her eyes; felt kind of like they'd been glued shut. All of her limbs felt heavy, like she'd been soaking in water for a long time. Did she even have limbs? An odd thought, but there was nothing normal about how she felt now. She couldn't move her fingers, something that should have come very easily. She would have panicked, but she was so _tired_ ; she couldn't get that jolt of electricity to jump her heart into a state of panic.

     There was a noise coming from somewhere, low and muffled. It sounded like her alarm going off, buzzing insistently to try and wake her. She tried to lift her head, tried to sit up to turn it off, but exhaustion prevented her from moving. She didn't remember ever having been at this level of lethargy before.

     A light pierced through her vision, and reflexively she found herself shrinking back, though physically she barely moved, squeezing her eyes shut.

     Wait. Her eyes had been _open?_

     She blinked to clear the fog in her vision, noticing how the light was moving from side to side. A noise  of discomfort escaped her throat, and she felt a gentle pressure on her forehead. She realized then that the buzzing noise she was hearing was someone talking to her.

     Unable to make out what they were saying, she tried to tell them her name so they would have something to call her. When she attempted speech, no actual words came out, just a wheeze of air. Even that took what seemed like an immense amount of energy; she wanted to go to sleep more than anything in the world right now. She was _freezing_ straight to the bone, so cold she could barely think straight.

     The voice grew more insistent, and through the fog she was actually able to make out words, " _No, no, hey, stay with me..."_ They were very muffled, like the person was speaking into a pillow, and there was a rushing noise in her ears like the sound of an ocean. She tried to speak again, but still nothing. She opened her eyes once again, now able to focus a bit more.

     "Can you see me?" came the voice, which she could now tell belonged to a man. She nodded as he came into focus, or at least she attempted to. She was unsure if her head had actually moved at all. He was leaning over her, a hand on her forehead, the other having just turned off a pen light he'd been shining in her eyes. He slipped the device into a pocket on the front of his coat, and gently felt both sides of her face with gloved hands. "It's alright, I'm a doctor." Relief whooshed through her veins at his words, and it sent a visible shudder through her. Or, that could've been because she was freezing cold. She had no idea. "Try not to move too much, honey, you've lost a lot of blood," She registered his words, realizing that that would explain the bitter chill. There was concern in the man's eyes, "Can you tell me your name?"

     She tried to swallow, but could conjure no saliva in her mouth. Her throat was so dry. She tried to tell him her name: Lia, LIA. Instead, that raspy wheezing came out again. A retch caught her by surprise, since she hadn't been prepared for it, and red warmth spurted out of her parted lips, spilling down her cheeks and her neck. She coughed again, more blood coming up, and she was able to spit most of it out the side of her mouth with a rusty moan. "It's alright, it's alright, don't strain yourself. An ambulance is on the way." He shifted above her, his authoritative, calm doctor's voice also exuding compassion. "Blink once for yes, two for no: are you experiencing any pain?" She was starting to drift back out, all she wanted to do was close her eyes and rest. She managed to blink twice before unconsciousness tried to drag her under once more.

     "Honey, I need you to stay awake for me," the man instructed, and she felt his hands on the side of her face again, "Don't go to sleep; I know you must be exhausted, but I need you to stay with me,"

     She tried, she really did.

     The last thing she saw was black.

                                                                                                     ~

     Lia awoke in a brightly lit room, cool fluorescent lighting the first thing her eyes saw. Upon opening her eyes, she didn't feel nearly as tired as she had before, but she definitely wasn't energized. She still wasn't moving too fast; she felt disoriented. She was trying to work out where she was, and the more she glanced around, the more she gathered she was in a hospital room.

     She relaxed back against the firm but comfortable pillows, taking a deep breath - and was immediately met with a sharp, stabbing pain in her right side below her breast. She let out a gasp, which set off a chain reaction of events. Her sharp intake of breath caused even more pain in her side, to which she doubled forward as best as she could to curl over the injury protectively. She whacked her arm on one of the bars on the side of the bed - her arm that had a _brace_ over her _wrist_. Stinging pins and needles shot up her arm, and she started crying in frustration, wheezing for breath. A beeping noise next to her ear on her left side was rapidly increasing, and she shot whatever it was a panicked look before the door to her room flew open. _God, calm down,_ she thought to herself as two female nurses came rushing in.

     "Check her stats," one of the nurses, a redhead, instructed to the other as they charged over to her, and the other blonde nurse immediately flew to the side with the machines. Why the hell was she hooked to a _heart rate monitor?_

     "Oh honey, you're alright, just a little hiccup," the blonde nurse cooed as the other checked her over to make sure she hadn't ripped any IV's out. Yeah, to top it all off, she was a pincushion.

     "You okay, doll? Been asleep for a while, I would've freaked out too waking up to find all this crap on me too," said the redhead nurse, her nametag reading _Toni_ , as she checked the IV in her right arm. Lia tried to clear her throat to reply, but it felt like her esophagus was filled with dust. _Fuck_ ; coughing hurt worse than breathing did. A plastic cup with water appeared in front of her face, and she took it gratefully, nodding in thanks. When she looked up to express her gratitude to everyone for rushing in to help her, she came face to face with a man dressed in a suit and tie. He looked distinctively CIA-ish, or like he was investigating Area 51. She cleared her throat without consequence this time. She knew why he was here, but she wanted to tell him he was in the wrong room.

     "How are you feeling, Miss?" he asked, a kind but reserved smile on his face.

     Lia nodded, swallowing the last of her water, " _Fantastic,"_ she replied, to which everyone chuckled. The blonde nurse offered to take the empty cup from her, and she looked to her with as much of a smile as she could muster. "Thank you," she whispered, knowing her voice would come back more with use.

     "Miss Hunt," the man said, walking towards the bed, his hand extended, "I'm Detective Ray Reynolds, FBI."

 _Shit_ , Lia thought, shaking his hand gingerly so as not to disturb the IV in her arm. _I didn't think it was that serious._

     "Hi, Lia," she replied, her voice very quiet and raspy.

     "Lia," he said her name, taking a step back from the hospital bed, "Are you feeling up to answering a few questions for me?"

 _Can I even say no?_ she thought. _Is that even a thing?_

     "Um," She looked to the nurses, who looked back at her curiously. "Yeah, sure."

     They all pretended to ignore the heart rate monitor that had picked up speed once again.

                                                                                        ~

     A few moments and a couple of glasses of water later, Lia found herself holding a photograph of a man in her good hand, studying it by the will of the agent across from her. _Do you know this man?_ was what he'd asked her. She had no idea who this guy was; she'd been expecting an interrogation regarding her extensive injuries and how she'd come about almost dying (she nearly died again when the nurses told her that part).

     Lia shook her head in answer to the Detective's question, "Never seen him before."

     "Are you sure?" he asked again. Whatever it was, it must have been important if he was persisting.

     She glanced at the photo again, "Pretty positive; if I have then I don't remember him." The man was probably late thirties, early forties. He wore a suit much like the man before her, and he had brown hair that had been loosely combed back with bright blue eyes. _Hot,_ she mused. _I'd have remembered you, babe_. She wondered if she should voice that part of her claim to the Detective. By his demeanor, he probably wouldn't get the humor in it. Whatever hottie-man had done, it was pretty bad if the feds were involved.

     Reynolds nodded in reply to her answer, crossing his arms in his chair and leaning back, "The reason I ask is because you were found on the property of an abandoned warehouse; it was his 'lair', so to speak. You were discovered a few moments after he fled the scene, half dead."

     There that was again, almost _dead_. Lia pursed her lips, but didn't say anything; she waited for him to continue.  
"This man," He gestured towards the photo she held, "is Detective Mark Hoffman. For the past few months, he has been responsible for the Jigsaw murders, and we're hunting him down. He's our number one, without a doubt suspect."

     Lia's eyes widened; she hadn't understood the seriousness of the situation. "I thought Jigsaw was dead."

     "The original Jigsaw has since died - John Kramer. However, we later found out that he's had some accomplices to help continue on with his work after his demise. As far as we know, Hoffman is the only one involved in these murders right now, and we've been avidly searching for him since his disappearance a few nights ago." Reynolds looked grave, which told her that they weren't too close to finding him, "If you have any information at all that might help, we would greatly appreciate it."  

     Lia wished she did know something so she could help him; he looked desperate. "I'm sorry, I really wish I could help you. I've never seen him before, nor have I ever heard his name in my life." Seriously, the guy could've come up and punched her in the face, and she would've had no frickin' clue who he was. Until now. She handed Reynolds the photo back, and voiced a thought that had been plaguing her since he'd mentioned it, "So, I was dumped on the front steps of this guy's murder house?"

     Reynolds nodded in confirmation, "Yes. We thought he might've been the one to do this to you, but there's one inconsistency with that theory:" He paused for just a moment for effect, "His victims aren't normally left alive." _Well,_ Lia thought, _that would make sense considering the whole serial killer thing, dude._ She did not say that out loud; instead she only nodded. She realized he had only said it that way for dramatic effect - he wanted to make sure he couldn't scrounge up any information about this psycho from her.   
She looked at the Detective sitting in front of her, shaking her head, "No sir, I know who did this to me, and it wasn't him." She pointed to the photo of the other man, Hoffman. "This is one crime he's not guilty for."

     "You know who did this to you," Reynolds said, and it was more of a statement than a question. Lia nodded her head with a _'yeah'._ "Miss Hunt, you were nearly dead when you were found. It was a stroke of luck that the man who discovered your body is a doctor, and he happened to be on his way home from a hospital conference earlier that evening. You wouldn't have made it if there had been any more of a delay in you receiving treatment." He stopped there, letting the news settle in. 

     Lia didn't visibly react, just waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she let out a breath, gingerly, and with that breath came a few stray tears escaping from her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her good hand, not looking at the agent as she spoke, "Yeah, I'm positive I know who did it."

     "Who?" 

     She swallowed thickly before answering, trying to force down the lump in her throat at the imminent fact, "My best friend."

 

 

 


	3. You Make Me Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Your smiles exposed all your fangs  
> Your forked tongue is always running  
> Spilling from your mouth  
> I suggest you bind it up and keep it  
> Keep it to yourself."  
> ~ 'You Make Me Sick' - Of Mice and Men

     Hoffman double checked all of his guns laying on the wooden worktable before him, making sure they were loaded and ready for immediate use. He didn't often second guess himself, but now was not the time for any mistakes to be made. He'd come close to being caught more than once within the past few days. By _both_ sides of the law: the police were hunting him, and that bastard in the pig mask... There had to have been more than one. Yet another thing John Kramer had failed to mention to him. He was not alone in this. The time he'd spent wracking his brain trying to figure out who else was involved was all for nothing; he had no idea. Which was why he'd not only been wracking his brain, he'd simultaneously been preparing for every possible outcome.

     At the moment, he was holed up in one of his backup locations; a place he'd picked out himself. A lot smaller than the warehouses and the abandoned zoo, this one was just a normal old house. While the warehouses and zoo were more convenient in scale and storage space, the house was much less conspicuous. Abandoned warehouses would be the first place the police looked for him; none of them would expect him to be hiding here. He'd decided a while back that he would purchase a rental house that would become storage for some of his devices. There were a few extra Billy dolls laying around, exact replicas of the original, some parts for traps, extra weapons, a voice modifier, camera pieces... The thing was, all of those materials stayed in the basement when he wasn't there. The rest of the house was made to look normal. It wasn't an extreme distance from the other locations, which was something he had planned out also. It was another half hour drive from the warehouse he'd just set aflame; the police would be searching for something reasonably closer. All of the original locations were within a ten mile radius of each other. If you were going to play on both sides of the law, it was beneficial to _be_ on both sides of the law.

     When Hoffman had found this place, he'd been savvy enough to have Amanda Young make the purchase. It was his money, cash, but he didn't want anyone in that area to be too familiar with his face, in case something like this should happen. Amanda was long gone now, and the rental was under a fake name in a less than desirable location; the payments always were made in cash. Oh yes, it was definitely beneficial to be an criminal that had knowledge of the law.

     That was what they all thought he was now; a _criminal_. But was someone who punished criminals for their wrongdoings really a criminal themselves? He was a cop for Christ's sake - he was the farthest thing from scum.

     Ever since his sister had been murdered, his lust for justice had become overwhelming. Perhaps it was more vengeance than justice he craved. But that didn't make him a criminal. He was not oblivious to the fact that his views had become a bit twisted, in a sense, since Angelina's wrongful death. Who could really blame him, though? He stared daggers at nothing in particular, jaw tensing at his thoughts. The force had never seen him as a docile person; he'd had a vendetta against murderers and rapists long before Angelina was killed. The other officers he worked with had always said he was a hardass, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for justice. Now, they were calling him batshit crazy. He was brutal, unforgiving, and merciless, but Hoffman knew he was not crazy. He was _determined._ He was a _survivor._

     He sat down on the couch in the living room, opening up the laptop in front of him. He'd managed to reach his goal to be just far away enough that nobody would think to look here, but just close enough that he could keep tabs on the bloodbath he'd left behind. The computer was refurbished, therefore harder to trace should anyone find out it was him using it. Not that they would, but it was good to have things to fall back on. Every couple of hours, he'd search for updates in the investigation; try to figure out what the next step would be for the cops. He'd already taken a ride down the block his apartment was on, and had seen a police cruiser parked out front. As if he was stupid enough to return there, he'd only driven back to take notes on highly police populated places, since his disappearance.

     He had the TV on low volume, mainly just for the background noise, mainly just for the background noise. The news channel, of course. There was a new investigating head that had been appointed, since, of course, the investigation had been his case. Now it was a Detective Ray Reynolds heading the investigation. According to him, they did not have Detective Mark Hoffman in custody as of yet, but they were avidly searching; they had their best detectives on the team. _Good luck_ , he thought with a snort. _He_ had been their best.

     Hoffman reached down next to his last gun on the right side to pick up the remote, turning the volume up on the TV while he was waiting for the laptop to boot up. On the screen presently was a newsworthy shot of the warehouse going up in flames, firefighters and cops surrounding the blaze. A newscaster spoke fervently in the background; it had been five days already and the news stations were still milking it for all it was worth.

     He was just about to go back to the laptop, seeing as there was nothing really new on the story, when the camera zoomed in on a stretcher being rushed to a nearby ambulance. Curiosity piqued, he shifted his full attention back to the story; _this_ was new.

     "...as seen here, we have new information from an anonymous source that what appeared to be a _dead_ body of a young woman was found at the scene. Upon paramedics arriving, it appeared that she had _miraculously_ clung to life, and was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital by ambulance. The woman has not been identified, but she suffered such _severe_ external traumatic injuries, our anonymous source claims 'I didn't think she would make it - her life was in God's hands'-"

     As the newscaster prattled on about the "blood-soaked body", a blurry picture of the woman's face was blown up on the screen as she was carried away on the stretcher. The frame frozen, Hoffman was able to better study what he thought had been a dead body. She was younger than he'd anticipated, looked to be late twenties at the most. Her features were blurred by pixels, since the picture must have been taken from very far away and zoomed in, but he could make out a pretty face untouched by age, amidst the blood covering almost her entire body. A piece of that same light hair could be seen draped over the pillow her head rested on. He couldn't see anything from her chin down; a paramedic was blurred in the frame as well, apparently just about to administer an oxygen mask onto her. Looking at her now, Hoffman could see even more clearly how he had mistaken her for being dead: she looked like she was knocking on heaven's door, even though they claimed she was still holding onto life. The cop in him wondered what kind of injuries she had sustained - the "severe external trauma" that they had mentioned, and the sight of her suggested that she should've been long dead. _Determined to live,_ Hoffman thought. _Kid after my own heart._

     "Police are investigating whether or not prime suspect in the Jigsaw killer murders former Detective Mark Hoffman is responsible for the near death of the young woman. She was found at the edge of the property of the crime scene, so it's likely that she has some sort of connection to the case, be it _victim_ or, still likely, _aiding_ in the crimes in some way..."

     Hoffman did get a chuckle out of that. Now he had an accomplice too? That was rich. He'd never been the partner type; even starting out as a cop he'd always preferred to do his job alone. The police, especially the ones from his bureau, would realize that. But if this woman had woken up and was telling them something different...

     He shook the thought; what did he care what any of them thought of him now? They all thought he was a psychopath, they would never understand his intentions. He couldn't expect them to know who he was anymore.

     Another thought pulled at his brain: she'd been found on the property, so how had she gotten there? The location wasn't in the best part of town by far, and it was set away from more populated streets and housing areas. In the state she'd been in when he'd glimpsed her; when the cops had found her, it was unlikely that she'd received those injuries elsewhere and walked to where he was residing. Unless she'd been driven from the original spot of attack and dumped there, left for dead. It was an interesting puzzle, indeed. Normally, he wouldn't have cared, but under the circumstances, it was definitely leaving him curious. If she had somehow managed to drag herself there from the original point of attack, then she'd just randomly happened to end up on his doorstep. Did she know who he was? The new question had him leaning back against the couch, pondering.

     Technically, it didn't matter; at this point, everyone knew who he was.

     But they didn't know his hiding places.

     He'd always been paranoid, it came with the job. But playing both sides of the law had increased his paranoia exceptionally. And right now, on the run, he couldn't afford to make any guesses that might lead to his incarceration... or death, by whomever else had been supposedly working for John. Was she one of them? He knew he was probably taking this way farther than it actually went, but if he was right...

     Leaning forward, he logged into the computer, looking up the number for the hospital. They couldn't tell him anything if he didn't know her name, but they would definitely tell the head of the investigation _Detective Ray Reynolds._

                                                                                                ~

     "So," Lia shifted against the pillows on the bed, "tell me one more time, I'm sorry, what's the damage?"

     The redhead nurse from before, Toni, was in checking on her once again. She raised one finger, tallying off each injury, "Two broken ribs,"

     "'Kay," Lia was doing a tally on her own hands, being careful of her wrist brace.

     "Sprained wrist,"

     Lia raised that brace in confirmation.

     "Concussion, mostly mild. Lacerations and bruises all over, bruised windpipe, sprained ankle, blood loss, multiple transfusions..."

     "Jesus."

     "Tell me about it, babe, you're a tough one. Still kickin'!"

     "I don't feel tough right now. I don't even wanna think about looking in the mirror."

     "Trust me, hon, it's not as bad as it could be," Toni lifted a mirror off of one of the food trays and handed it to Lia, "You're more resilient than you think."

     " _Ugh,"_ She may have been resilient, but she still looked like she'd had the shit beaten out of her. Her left eye was black, swollen a little, but they said that had looked much worse when she'd been  brought in. There was a cut down that eyebrow, as well as one on her cheekbone. The cuts were held together by small pieces of surgical tape, seeing as how they weren't quite deep or long enough for stitches. There was a cut down the right corner of her bottom lip, which made her look a bit like Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad. That one looked worse than it felt. Everything else ached. Tilting the mirror down a bit, she noted the dark bruises surrounding her neck, like someone had tried to choke her. Because someone _had_ tried to choke her. They'd done everything just enough so that she would be close to death, but not enough so that she would die before they were done.

     A little while ago, when the doctor had been in, he'd gone over all of her injuries with her with Detective Reynolds in the room. He'd also mentioned that she had been sexually assaulted at some point during the crime, and she was grateful beyond words that she had not been conscious for that.

     The whole thing made her nauseous: the fact that you can know someone for a good chunk of your life, and they can still find some way to surprise you in the worst way. You think nothing will change, and then it does with a devastating vengeance.

     Toni looked at her with sympathy, as though she knew what the younger woman was thinking, "Do they have any leads? Any news?"

     It had been five days since she was discovered half dead on the warehouse property; five days since Mark Hoffman had disappeared, leaving a massacre in his midst. Lia knew who had done this to her, and she hoped they weren't long gone: she had yet to do the same to them. She shook her head in answer to the nurses question, "I gave them all the information they'd need, Reynolds hadn't mentioned anything to me and it's been five days..." She shrugged, "So I don't know."

     "They'll catch the bastard, don't you worry," Toni reached out and patted her good, unbandaged hand. "They always do. Every dog has their day. " She glanced up at the clock on the wall, "Your mama should be here any minute, I'll go keep an eye out for her."

     Lia made herself smile, "Thank you." As soon as the nurse left the room, she relaxed back on her pillows once again. She'd been in the hospital for a few more days. Then, she could go hunt them down. Then they'd wish they never met her.


	4. Joan of Arc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You can crucify, you can nail me to your cross  
> You can find me guilty for everything you've lost  
> Go ahead, blame me for your sins  
> Go ahead and sacrifice me  
> Make me a martyr, I'll be your Joan of,  
> I'll be your Joan of Arc."  
> ~ 'Joan of Arc' - In This Moment

     Hoffman parked a block away fro the hospital, hitting the lock on the keychain until the lights flickered. He turned and walked towards the building he'd been in many times, only this time he had to go in unnoticed. The cover of darkness would help him, as well as the baseball cap over his hair and, if he kept his head down, his face. He walked around to the side of the building where he knew the MRI entrance was. The doors wouldn't open unless you knew the code; in most cases an ID badge was required, but Saint Eustace had found that a code was more secure. Badges had been lifted off many an employee in this part of town, but there was no getting in a keypad lock without knowing the code. Hoffman had been fortunate enough to know the code, since he'd been in the hospital numerous times to identify bodies, find out autopsy results, etc. The morgue was right down the hall from MRI, so the nurses had given him and a few other cops the keypad code for convenience. As he neared the door, he prayed it hadn't been changed. He took care not to glance around; that might seem fishy to any bystanders that happened to notice him there. He punched the code in: 2803. Much to his relief, the green _go_ light blinked on the keypad, granting him access. He opened the door and slipped inside.

     Amelia Hunt, age twenty five, was in the special care unit. When he'd called the admitting department, he'd done everything he normally used to do when he was still a detective on the force: called to say he was checking on the status of the patient they'd brought in from whatever crime scene they'd been found at, and asked to speak with the ED coordinator. He'd had to modify his speech and his vocal tone, since Ray Reynolds had a much different voice, but it had gone so smoothly it was almost pitiful. He now had more than enough information about the girl; apparently Ray Reynolds was well liked within the hospital, and he got whatever he wanted, so it seemed. He'd told the coordinator he needed to update her police file with the extent of her injuries exactly, and was just asking to confirm. He knew it would not go unnoticed that the information had been given out; the hospital would have to document that on their end, of course. He also knew that Reynolds himself might call again asking for the same information, which would cause some confusion. They could lock down the hospital then, do whatever they wanted, change the codes, it didn't matter. She'd be out of the hospital by then, and he just had to see her once - he had to get her to answer some questions for him.

     Special care was on the fifth floor with the intensive care unit; she'd been admitted to the ER, brought up to ICU, and then transferred to SCU when her condition had stabilized. Hoffman moved into the elevator and hit the button to go up to the fifth floor, keeping his head down and away from the camera. Hopefully no one noticed who he was, but if they did, there was always the gun he had holstered underneath his dark jacket.

                                                                                                      ~

     It was close to midnight, so the floor was mostly empty. The bustle of the day always died down when the sun set, even in a place this busy. This was good news for him, he was less likely to be seen. He was a little surprised that there was no officer stationed outside of room 541, Amelia Hunt's temporary home. If she was supposedly involved somehow in the case, he would've thought they would want someone there in case something like _this_ should happen. If he was still the head of the investigation, that would be something he would've mandated. _Amateurs._

     He paused outside of the door to room 541, checking out of the corners of his peripheral vision to make sure no one was paying attention. He didn't pause too long though, not wanting to seem suspicious. Gently, he pushed the door open, and let himself into the room.

     It was dark in there, and while he couldn't see her as his eyes hadn't adjusted yet, he assumed she was asleep. The heart rate monitor she was hooked up to beeped slow and steady, her pulse was not stressed. He didn't want to turn on the lights for fear of waking her, but he wanted to look at her, to _see_ her. The cop in him was curious as to what sort of injuries she had sustained, and how exactly she'd survived.

     Quietly, he crossed the room and pulled open the curtain covering the window. It didn't let in so much light that she would wake up, but it let in enough so he was able to make her out.

     Indeed, there was evidence of violence done unto her.

     Hoffman walked quietly over to the side of the bed, watching her warily to make sure she didn't wake. He reached up to the wall behind her, eyes on her all the while, to take her hospital chart out of the  file slot tacked to the wall. She slept like the dead; no movement whatsoever, didn't appear to be even _breathing._ If it wasn't for the gentle rising and fall of her chest, and the consistent bleep of the monitor hooked to her, she could have been mistaken for a corpse. He pulled his tiny keychain flashlight out of his pocket, putting the end in his mouth to hold it steady as he opened the folder with her hospital stay information in it. Each injury he read seemed to be worse than the last; after being a cop, not much surprised him, especially after working in the homicide department. But this girl should've been dead long ago. Yet, that heart rate monitor still beeped on, slow and steady.

     The will to survive really was a phenomenal epiphany. This was what John tried to teach in his lessons, what he preached to his followers like some twisted Jesus. _Cherish your life._ It wasn't often he came across someone who did. She did, this Amelia Hunt. Hoffman glanced up from her file to look upon her once again. She had fought tooth and nail to live, and she'd won.

     At that moment, someone walking by the door down the hallway laughed loudly, startling Hoffman, who whipped his head in the direction of the noise. A shadow of a person passing by the outside of the door came along with chatter, and then it faded as whomever it was walked by. He let himself relax a bit in relief, lifting the chart in front of his face to read certain parts over once more. As the flashlight passed over the woman's face, he noticed with another start that her eyes were open.

                                                                                                     ~

      _Holy fuck._ Lia was not expecting to see someone standing right next to her bed the second she opened her eyes. It was so dark in the room still - she would've thought the nurses would turn on the lights if they were checking on her. One quick glance, and what appeared to be a pen light shining in her face, and she was suddenly aware that this was not a nurse. When they lowered the light so it wasn't shining in her eyes, she was able to make out a tall man in a dark coat and a baseball hat.

     He looked almost as surprised to find her awake as she was to find him standing there. The baseball cap combined with the darkness in the rom made it difficult to make out any of his features, but it had been his body language that had seemed surprised. They eyed each other for a moment, and then she spoke: "I'm guessing you're not my doctor." Lack of use and the bruised windpipe made her voice sound even flatter, which worked for the tone of her comment.

     A light huff came from the man, and he answered, "Not quite." His voice was deep, velvet smooth; this was not the man who had done this to her, his voice wasn't nearly that nice. Still, she remained wary as the guy set her file down on the small table to the right of her bed, clicking off the small light as well. Lia didn't move, she waited to see what else he would do. Then her eyes adjusted a bit to the darkness. She saw a strong jaw, full lips, brown hair peeking out from underneath the cap, striking blue eyes...

_Oh, Lord._

_~_

     Hoffman noted the recognition in her eyes after they'd adjusted to the darkness in the room. She knew who he was, alright. That was why he was here. "You know who I am, don't you?" The question didn't even need to be asked, but he wanted to see what her reaction to it would be. Would she lie and pretend she didn't, or would she go along with what her eyes told him? He saw her throat constrict with a gulp; her throat with dark, finger shaped marks around it, like someone had tried to crush her windpipe with two hands. She nodded once; she wasn't even going to deny it.

     There wasn't quite fear in her eyes, more of a wariness, like she was a little nervous but knew to remain calm. Hoffman wondered if she thought he had been the one to do this to her, to put her in this state. As soon as he'd seen her face, he'd known he hadn't; he didn't recognize her in the least. He was not guilty of this particular crime. First and foremost, he may have been now labeled a _killer_ , but rape was not in his agenda in the least. They could all look back on his Jigsaw history and see that very clearly. This woman had been victimized in almost every way: physically, mentally, and sexually. Secondly, the finger marks around her neck weren't his. He wouldn't be stupid enough to try and choke someone to death without his gloves (which were in his pockets now), and if he did, he'd make sure they were dead. Also, the bruises on her neck were too small to be his; his hands were much bigger than that.

     She continued to watch him silently, her heart rate monitor the only noise in the room. Hoffman raised and hand and gestured towards her entire body in the hospital bed, "You know who did this to you?" The young woman nodded, this one more confident than the last. "Any idea why or how you got onto the warehouse property?"

     She cleared her throat, shifting against her pillow. "They probably figured-" She coughed, trying to clear out the grit in her throat. Bruised windpipe will do that to ya, he thought. He'd seen many a crushed throat in his day. "They probably figured they could blame it on you by dumping me at your front door... Maybe they hoped you would finish me off."

     Hoffman considered this, asking. "Who's _they_?"

     Now there was a spark in her eyes; dark, deep brown from what he could see. "Why do you care?"

     Her words hung in the air momentarily as he considered this as well. Why did he care? He supposed he didn't, but then again if he didn't, he wouldn't be here right now.  
Instead of answering her question, he asked another of his own: "What do you know about me?"

     She looked a bit confused at this, glancing down at the floor with a look of concentration, like she was trying to remember. She looked back up into his eyes with her mouth quirked ever so slightly to one side; subtle, but still recognizable as mischievous. "Your _name_."

     Hoffman suppressed a sigh of exasperation. She wasn't terrified of him, so she didn't recognize this situation as a dangerous one. Little did she know, Hoffman was a patient man. He would do whatever it took to gain information he needed.

     "You wanna know why I'm here?" he asked, and she nodded. He leaned in a bit closer, resting a hand on one of the bars along the side of her bed. Intimidation had always been his tactic, and he was pretty damn good at it. "I'm here because you have some vital information that I need to know. Curiosity got me first, I'll admit. You're supposed to be long dead, by the looks of your list of injuries in your chart - all that blood loss, plus everything else combined with that, should have killed you. When I saw you laying in the dirt, I thought you were already a corpse. I've been a cop for over twenty years; I know a dead body when I see one. I don't normally second guess my professional opinion, so as you can imagine I was a little surprised to find you alive and recovering. I was also surprised to hear the news channel informing me that I may have an accomplice..." He let that information sink in for a moment, watching her face carefully for emotion. If she was working with whomever else had those masks, knew his secrets... They might be have been baiting him, and she could be a part of this whether she knew it or not. Stick a supposed dead body outside of anyone's quarters, and of course it's going to draw some attention. That's what whomever placed it there would be anticipating.

     "Even an accomplice that I had no idea I had."

     Her face did not change the whole time he spoke, other than the tensing of her jaw when he mentioned how he had thought she was dead. If she knew at all what he was referring to, she was good at hiding it.

     Hoffman leaned forward a bit more, making sure she was paying attention. He would catch any indication that she was lying to him; every twitch of her eye, the slightest pursing of her lips. She looked like she was trying to understand what he was talking about. Or she was trying to fool him into thinking she didn't understand. _There's that paranoia._

     "Now I'll ask you again," His voice was a dangerously low whisper. When he got these ideas in his head, when that paranoia came knocking, when he needed to know the information _now now NOW_. He was like a tightly coiled wire, ready to spring at any second, his composure pulled taut. He could make it seem like he was about to lose his shit, and quite honestly when he felt this rabid, half the time he _was_ about to lose his shit. When he would sell his soul to gain information because he just needed to know needed to know now. When he felt alive. " _What do you know about me."_

     She looked at him hard; now he could see a small smidgen of fear in her eyes, but she masked it by continuing to look him dead in the eye. They were staring at each other so intensely, so wholly invested that it took him a moment before he registered a blinking red light coming from down by her right hand.

     She'd pushed the panic button.

     _Fuck._


	5. Coming Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Choke, choke again  
> I thought my demons were my friends  
> Pity me in the end  
> They're out to get me  
> Since I was young  
> I tasted sorrow on my tongue  
> And this sweet chocolate gun does not protect me."  
> ~ 'Coming Undone' - Korn

     She'd never seen someone move so fast as when Mark Hoffman realized that she'd pushed the panic button. Truthfully, she could've handled him a bit longer; she wasn't necessarily afraid, more wary than anything. She wanted to find out whatever it was he thought she was hiding from him as well - now her own curiosity over the situation was piqued. But she'd grown tired of his accusatory tone. She knew why she was here, how she'd wound up like this, and it had nothing to do with him, contrary to what anyone might think.

     He'd jumped away from the bed like it was on fire, eyes still on hers, and shot towards the door. Just before he pulled it open, he gave her a knowing look, a mere tightening of his jaw, and he said: "I'll be seeing you." Then he was gone.

     Lia wondered, not for the first time, how she'd managed to draw the short straw when it came to all the crazy shit going down in the past couple of days. _I mean, I know I'm asking for trouble ninety percent of the time, but Jesus._

     About an hour had passed since she'd been visited by Mark Hoffman, and she was still as wide awake as she had been when she'd realized someone was in the room with her. The night nurses had come in moments after Hoffman had slipped out, asking if she was okay, checking her bandages. She knew she should've told them about him, but instead she said that she must've accidentally hit the button while she was sleeping; rolled onto it, moved her arm just the right way. They'd believed her. Lying about this though, if anyone should find out that he had visited her, would mean an investigation on _her_ as well (even more so than there already seemed to be). But she had some questions that needed answering as well. Answers the man she'd met an hour ago could provide.

     That had been one of the strangest things to ever happen to her: a known renegade cop turned serial killer visits her in the hospital, demanding information and babbling on about an accomplice... She was still trying to figure that part out. Was he trying to tell her that he thought _she_ was the accomplice? _That_ was rich. Also, if he had a partner in crime, wouldn't he know it? She thought back to what he'd said then about _"Even an accomplice I had no idea I had."_ What did that mean?

     Lia was aware, as soon as she'd discovered where her body had been found on the warehouse property, that there would be much concern as to how she got there, and why she was there at all. She'd been just as honest with Hoffman as she'd been with Reynolds: She had no idea how she'd wound up there.

     She'd also been honest when she'd told them that she'd most likely been dumped there in the hopes that _Jigsaw_ would kill her. That kind of hurt.

     Though it was dark in the room, she found herself aimlessly staring off into nothing. _All this over a boy._ That was the sad truth. She'd told Reynolds the whole story, and even he had been dubious.

     _"There has to be more to it,"_ Reynolds had stated.

     Lia had shrugged in response, _"If there is, your guess is as good as mine."_

_"Did she ever give you any indication that she may have been jealous or resentful of you before?"_

_"No. I never saw any of this coming."_

_"Well, it's just an educated guess, but these type of crimes are usually premeditated..."_

That kept her awake too. It had for a while. She'd realized it, but hadn't brought the thought out from the dark places in her mind until he'd mentioned it. The thought made her sick. _  
_

_"_ _What about Ellis, any bad blood there?"  
_

_"None till he dumped me, no."  
_

_"Do you think she had a hand in that as well? Despite her status as engaged to be married?"  
_

_"I wouldn't doubt it. They both tried to have me killed, anything after that is entirely possible..."  
_

Lia shook the thoughts of her conversation with Reynolds, and instead focused her thoughts on her encounter with Mark Hoffman. 

     Once the flashlight was turned off, and her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw his own eyes, that hair, strong jawline, full lips, and she immediately knew who it was. He looked a little different from the photograph Reynolds had shown to her, but not by much. Underneath the brim of the hat, she could see his hair was only slightly shorter than it was in the picture, but somehow it made his jaw look more defined. He was still handsome, even more so in person. Not in a poster boy/movie star kind of way where he lacked imperfections, but she'd never gone for that type. In the picture, he'd been clean shaven, but he'd had a light smattering of five o'clock shadow when she'd just seen him. His eyes were _electric_ ; while the rest of his face was carefully stoic and cop-like, his eyes were alive with currents of emotion. He was bigger than she'd thought, but then again, the picture she'd seen of him had only been of his neck and above. Tonight she had seen all of him. When she thought of it like that, it made her face feel warm. _Jesus, calm that shit down, he's a serial killer! He's damn fine, but that's as far as it goes!_ Tall, broad-shouldered, thick as fuck- _Whoa, stop right there girl._

     Okay, she thought with a sigh, knowing she really wouldn't be sleeping now. Maybe she _shouldn't_ think of Mark Hoffman.

                                                                                                       ~

     Hoffman balanced the laptop on his lap as he lounged in the bed of his 'safe house' a few days later. This was the first time he'd allowed himself to relax in days, and it was something he desperately needed. He didn't often get burnt out, so he knew it was time to take major action when he did. He could feel the lack of sleep over the past week catching up to him. That was something he'd never had a problem with, sleep. Even when John Kramer had begun mentioning him, sleep had always come easy. The time of Angelica's death was the only point in his life where he could remember ever having trouble, and the reasoning behind that was obvious. It probably should have worried him; even after he would capture people to play games, after some of them would inevitably die as a result... He still slept like a baby. He felt remorse for some of the players; he wasn't a complete monster. Those who were not true criminals whom he had to put in the games for a bigger purpose, he felt remorseful for having to involve them. John had tried to tell him that he should feel the same for the criminals, for the wrong-doers, tried to tell him that they all equally deserved chances. Hoffman knew the truth; once a criminal, always a criminal. Giving any of them another chance was equivalent to handing them a loaded gun - their corruption was too strong for them to resist. They would continue to murder, and cheat, and steal, and rape. Where was the justice in _that?_

     He could feel sleep pulling at him, calling his name, but he wanted to hold off for a few more minutes. He'd had the same few tabs opened on the computer for the past few days: various news websites, Amelia Hunt's Facebook profile and her DMV records. The DMV records still came from his anonymous source - it was almost disgusting how easy it was to obtain information on someone. It was also very convenient - if you knew where to look you could uncover just about any rock anyone might be hiding underneath. He knew where she worked, where she lived, her birthday and her age, what she looked like when she wasn't covered in bruises, cuts and blood... Anything he wanted to know. On her profile (which had been private, so he'd had to pull some strings to get into it), she was listed as _Lia Hunt._

     "Lia," He said the name out loud, "I'll be looking for you."

     As far as he knew, Lia had not told the cops or the FBI working the case that he had visited her in the hospital. If she had, it was being kept very _hush hush_ ; he'd seen nothing on the news, and it had been four days since he'd met her. Somehow, he thought that if he _had_ been sighted, there would've been a much larger commotion. He'd driven by Saint Eustace hospital a few times since then, and nothing had been out of the ordinary. Cops would've been stationed on every corner if the knowledge of his visit had gotten out. He knew it was dangerous to assume, but he was going to risk it anyways in this case. He had a feeling that Lia Hunt had just as many questions for him as he did for her.

     Any day now she'd be getting out of the hospital, if she hadn't already. He decided that tomorrow during business hours he would call the hospital again, pretending to be Detective Ray Reynolds, and inquire as to whether or not her discharge paperwork was properly filed. That way he would also find out whether or not she'd actually been let out; if the paperwork had been filed, it was a _yes._ Then he would go and find her.

     Hoffman had found himself looking through her photos on Facebook more than once, as well as her interests. He'd found out that she lived and breathed rock and roll, as well as movies and films (especially ones belonging to the horror genre, funny enough), changed her hair color constantly, as well as hairstyle, and loved being outdoors. There was a lot of nature photography in one of her photo albums on the site. He also checked out her profile photos album to get a better look at her appearance. This he'd also looked through more than once. For clues. _I have to do as much research as possible._ It didn't matter that she was attractive; the world was full of attractive people, especially women. Lia seemed to like to wear a lot of makeup, but it did nothing to mask her natural beauty. He also noted that she was smiling in almost every picture - none of that crap where she was trying to pose like a model with a serious face and pouty lips.

     Sighing through his nose, he closed out of that window and checked the news sites one more time for any updates. Still, nothing. _Interesting._ Deciding to leave it at that, he shut down the laptop and closed it up for the night. He would continue with everything tomorrow - right now, he needed sleep.

     He reached over and flicked off the lamp next to the bed, checking his gun on the same nightstand to make sure it was ready for use. Settling under the covers, his last thought before sleep was that he'd feel sorry for whatever poor bastard tried to break into this house.

                                                                                                          ~

     Lia crawled into her bed as gently and carefully as she could, making an attempt to not tear any of her stitches. Again. The nurses and doctors had told her to take it easy. _There's no need to rush on anything._

     Once she finally got comfortable, she heaved a sigh, relaxing against the pillows. She tried to do just what they said: relax. It wasn't easy, though. She was worried about what would happen with her job - sure, she had a doctor's note to be out. This was a definite excuse; having the shit beaten out of her and almost dying. But she'd been absent a few times already - enough to get a verbal warning. She hoped she wouldn't be fired for more time off, though this wasn't by any means her choice.

     Lia loved her mother more than anything, but she was also causing her restlessness. She fussed constantly, and it was driving her up a wall. She was glad her mom was working today; she needed a day to herself. Needed to get her mind off of things. She had a load of movies lined up, ready to watch, and a load of junk food ready to be devoured. Needless to say, she was super pumped for her day of doing nothing, though the situation was not at all _ideal._

     Even through all of this excitement, she still couldn't stop her mind from wandering; this entire situation was so fucked up. One of the key moments standing out for her being that a serial killer now knew her name, and possibly where she lived, and thought she could give him information on God only knew what. That was always a grand old time. She did not tell her mom about that; it wouldn't have gone over well. The woman was worried enough about her daughter as it was. She did not tell the police either, which may or may not have been against her better judgement - she assumed she would find out soon. Honestly, she wasn't that worried about Hoffman's 'threat'. Mentally, she was still so numb by what had happened to her, she knew nothing could even touch her right now. _Do what you want dude, you want me, you probably know where to find me. I don't giva._

     Her mind also kept flitting back to her most recent discussion with Ray Reynolds before she'd been discharged from the hospital. He'd called her a few times to check on her since she'd gone home, which she thought was very sweet. The day before she'd left, he made sure to update her on the search for her assailant, and as well as the hunt for Mark Hoffman. Apparently, neither had been found at this point in time. Lia tried to keep her face blank but attentive, like she hadn't just seen Mark Hoffman in her hospital room a few nights prior.

     Reynolds had also asked her once again if she'd had any involvement with anything Jigsaw related, or if she was sure there was nothing she knew about Hoffman. Again, she told him the same things she had already mentioned previously in her statement. It wasn't a lie because she hadn't known anything, and still hadn't really know anything, and still didn't really know anything, until a few nights ago when he'd come to the hospital. It was very strange being involved in a situation like this, but not knowing _why_ she was involved in the first place. Could there be more to it than her just being found on the property? She kept wondering that. It was nagging at her brain. 

     She also kept going back to the blonde nurse from before coming back into the room, murmuring something into Reynolds' ear. His face had brightened exponentially, and he turned back to Lia with a smile. "You have a visitor!" he'd said. 

     Lia braced herself for yet another tearful encounter with her mom, and was surprised when a man had stepped into the room. 

     "Hi, Lia. How are you feeling?" He was tall, blonde haired and blue eyed. He had that distinctly medical air about him - not a pompous kind, but the kind that made you want to trust him. Lia could not recall who he was; if she'd seen him before, she had completely forgotten. 

     "I'm alright, like I've been hit by a train, but, you know, I'm good." A laugh went around the room, and Reynolds rose to walk over to the other man and shake his hand. Blondie was well dressed in a neatly pressed suit, impeccable without wrinkles. He looked like he worked hard to make himself presentable. 

     "Do you know who I am, Lia?" the blonde man asked, stepping forward.

     She tried to think of where she might have seen him before, but nothing came to her. Reynolds spoke up, "Lia, this is Doctor Lawrence Gordon. He saved your life - he is the one who found you."

 

 


	6. In the Air Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I can feel it  
> coming in the air tonight  
> Hold on  
> I've been waiting for this moment  
> all my life..."  
> ~ 'In the Air Tonight' - In This Moment version

_Two weeks._ Hoffman zipped up his black jacket, making sure his gloves were tucked tight into the sleeves. He couldn't afford to let any skin show; there couldn't be any possibility of skin fiber or arm hairs being found anywhere near where he was about to be. _Two weeks is long enough._

     She would've healed up somewhat by now; enough for him to move her without causing too much stress. Her ankle hadn't been a bad sprain, not bad enough for crutches or a boot, at least. The rest of her injuries would be healing up as well now if she'd received proper care. She would be far from being completely healed, but by now she'd definitely be on the road to recovery. Far along enough that a chloroform rag in front of her face and possibly a few more bruises wouldn't be harmful.

     He'd found out where she lived, and that was where he was headed. He had to find out what she knew.

     Part of him wondered if she was just caught up in the crossfire; if she had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another stronger part of him, the kind that had led him to become a cop, did not believe in coincidences.

     There were things he didn't know. He had to have full disclosure, or there was a possibility that he would be caught. He wasn't going to take any chances; if she had any useful information at all for him, he would find out.

     It was approaching one in the morning - he knew she would be sound asleep, because he'd found out that she had to be at work at six am. Interestingly enough, she worked for St. Eustace in the call switchboard department. It was amazing what one could find out about a stranger if they knew where to look, and had the right connections. This was total abuse of power; had been especially when he was a cop.

     Hoffman stuck his glock down the back of his pants, safety on. Making sure he was equipped with everything he might need, he walked to the door of the house purposefully. _The game begins tonight._

                                                                                                     ~

     The lot of the apartment complex was dark, only faintly lit by the outside lights on the doors leading into each building. That was good; the cover of darkness was a helpful asset to utilize. He'd pulled into the parking lot with his lights off, parking in one of the open spaces. It was after two am, so he doubted anyone would be up and about to be the parking lot police. He also didn't want to draw extra attention to an unknown vehicle by parking in visitor parking, though that was right next to her building. Hoffman stepped out of the Jeep, only seeing a few lights in some of the windows in the buildings around him, besides the entrance door lights, which always remained on. Such was apartment life. He was surprised by how big the complex campus was; he was surrounded on three sides by three large buildings, and behind the garage next to visitor parking, he saw two more buildings in the darkness. _C-19, C-19._ If his calculations were correct, the smallest building directly in front of him was C, and that was where Lia Hunt would be.

     Closing the car door as lightly as he could, he began his trek towards the building. The air was crisp, smoky breath exiting his body with every exhale. It was cold like it had been two weeks ago when he'd seen her body half in the grave already in front of the warehouse. Thinking about how uncomfortable it would have been right about now without his coat, he wondered how she hadn't caught pneumonia or hypothermia along with all of her other extensive injuries.

     Like most apartment buildings, he found the main entrance to building C unlocked, open to anyone who wanted to come in. Warm air and light rushed to meet him, and he quietly closed the heavy door behind him. Immediately to his left appeared to be a dark laundry room with a generator humming near the back; a very small, very humid room. Hoffman ducked out, surveying the storage closets to his right. His eyes caught on number 19, and he reached out to wiggle the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. Pulling it open, all he saw in there was a bike contorted into the small space, a four foot step ladder, a small table-top grill, and a bunch of cleaning supplies in the back. On top of the ladder was a Canadian quarter and an open box of dryer pads, and balancing on top of the grill was an enormous container of laundry detergent. Hoffman took note of the way the items were crammed into the space; she obviously wasn't a neat freak, and neither was her mother, whom she lived with.

     Closing that door quietly, Hoffman continued on down the warmly lit hallway, noting two doors directly across from one another with suite numbers embossed on the outside. 17 and 18. She must have been on the second floor. Suite 18 was almost directly under a staircase, and also right next to a smaller door that he guessed led to the basement. He went on past those two doors to another entrance to this section of the building. To the right of the entryway were a few beat up wall mailboxes, painted a rusty gold color in an attempt to look more pleasing to the eye. His eyes flickered over to the box that had the number 19 embossed on it in an even brighter shade of gold. All of the other boxes had the tenants last names printed on the front in little sticky cards; number 19 was the only one left blank. According to his records, they hadn't moved in too long ago - the landlord probably hadn't gotten around to making them a fixture on this place just yet.

     Rounding the bannister by the mail boxes, Hoffman began his ascent on the stairs, trying not to make his steps too heavy. The hall was completely quiet at this time; no sound of chatter, television, creaking steps. Nothing but utter silence. It was unnerving - there was nothing to cover any noise he himself might make. Every step was wrought with possibility; who could hear? He couldn't deny the thrill, though. There was always a rush that came along with the possibility of getting caught.

     The door to room 19 was to the left of the top of the stairs. Once he reached the final step, he very quietly knelt down on the small landing at the top of the staircase. This part of the building was very cramped - very narrow. He wondered if this would also reflect the tininess of the inside of the apartments, as well.

     Out of the left pocket of his jacket, he pulled out two small metal devices that looked like they belonged on a tray prior to an operation. Probably because that was precisely where he had taken them from.

     He shuffled towards the door, making sure to not create noise, and started picking the lock with the instruments. This was something he was well-versed in doing; one of the first things he had learned as a cop was how to pick a lock. Fiddle around a bit and you could get into anything. The problem here would be if there was a deadbolt on the inside. He could get through it, but it would create a lot of unnecessary noise. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. At the same time though, he was calculating in his mind how long it would take him to get in and out if the alarm was sounded. He'd have to break the door down, rush in there and gas the girl (possibly her mother too, if she awoke and threw a fit), grab her and carry her out all before someone called the cops and reported him. He was confident he could do it; he did not often doubt himself. However, he would rather sneak in and out without anyone knowing. It would make his continued evasion of the cops much smoother if he continued to remain a ghost to them; not unheard of, but not seen either.

     The lock came open with a click, and he swiftly tucked the metal instruments back into his jacket pocket. Taking a calming breath, what he always did before closing in, and pushed the door open to slip inside, unnoticed. Shutting the door quietly, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness in the room. When they did for the most part, he could tell he was in the living room; he could make out the shape of a TV directly across from the door, and to his left, a small cream colored couch. There was a large sliding door across the room with big windows, and he assumed that it lead onto a balcony that it appeared all of the other apartments on the second floor had. The curtains were pulled back so the light from the outside was able to stream in, and upon his eyes adjusting to the darkness further, he noted that the room was full of clutter.

     No actual person was seen in the room; it was empty save for the clutter. He still remained wary. It was a part of his training and his intuition.

     Hoffman began his slow tread around the room, stepping on the carpet as lightly as he could. The floor creaked a bit beneath his weight, but he didn't worry too much about that. The likelihood of that actually waking someone up was very little. He was alone in this room, but that didn't mean the other rooms were unoccupied. He had seen her car in one of the spots close to the building; a little aqua colored 2009 Versa settled in its spot for the night. He knew she was here. Where else would she be on a normal Tuesday night?

     He would've taken more time to study his surroundings, but he wanted to be in and out as fast as possible. Anyone could sound the alarm at any moment; anyone of these nosy old biddies who happened to look out their windows and notice the strange car that didn't belong there. Focus, time to focus. He noticed, had as soon as he'd walked in, that there was a faint smell of dirty dishes/garbage that had yet to be taken out. It wasn't overpowering, but just enough to make anyone who entered aware that it was there. He guessed they must hot have had guests over often. That overly observant, cop part of his brain never shut off.

     Hoffman slowly walked to the right, past the wall with the sliding door coat closet to him; when he stepped nearer to it he saw that that was the bathroom. There was a very narrow door, closed, next to the bathroom, and two closed normal sized doors on each wall next to that. Straight in front of him loomed one big white door with two pieces of what appeared to be aluminum streamers that stated _Happy Birthday_ in different colors. The door to the right of him, directly across from the small closer door, was the same size as the _Happy Birthday_ one, but was left blank. He was going to make a call; the streamer covered door had to be Lia's. She had been the one to have a most recent birthday in June. He'd found out that her mother's birthday wasn't until December, and it was now just the beginning of October. He doubted the mother's birthday would have been brought up this early on. It also fit Lia's apparent 'don't care', breezy personality type that she wouldn't be phased by something as minute as leaving birthday streamers up on her door. _You're a real class act, Miss Hunt_. Assuming that was actually her door.

     Taking another deep breath, Hoffman reached forward and closed his hand around the doorknob, pausing only momentarily before pushing it open.

     If he thought the living room had been cluttered, he would've loved to find a synonym that was about five steps up from clutter to describe this room. He would've if his brain wasn't in cop mode, at the moment. The kids room was a mess. Not realizing there were glass jars behind the door until he'd already knocked into them, he quickly yanked the door back so it was positioned at an awkward angle from the wall that it should've been able to touch; this also effectively blocked him from being able to enter the room, the way he was holding it. From where he stood, he eyed the posters on the walls, and the vanity full of makeup in the far corner of the small room. This was definitely Lia Hunt's room.

     He could also tell because the figure laying in the bed looked exactly like her, and the last time he checked, she didn't have a twin.

     The light coming from her slightly open window next to her air mattress shone on the ends of her pink hair. That's right, pink. He'd found that out on Facebook. What he'd thought had been blonde hair when he'd first seen it was actually a very pale pink, save for the roots which were darker pink. Was she trying to look like a freakin' _ice cream_ _cone?_

     In any case, the important part was that it was her. He was in the right place. Now she had to go with him, and she wouldn't even realize until she woke up in his place. _Gotcha._

     Suddenly a cough came from the next room; her moms room. It was so sudden, he froze in surprise in his position wedged between the door and her clothing cabinet. Silence followed, and he allowed himself to relax. Then it came again, followed by a wheezing, ragged breath, and then more coughing. This, while slightly muffled behind a closed door, still seemed incredibly loud to him; it had been dead quiet up until that noise. He heard the puff of an inhaler, and saw the light flick on underneath the door to the mother's room. Fuck. He didn't know if the mother checked on Lia frequently at night, considering her condition as the victim of violence, but if she happened to do so and saw that her daughters bed was empty... _Not good. Shit._

     Acting quickly as he heard the squeak of bed springs in the room the coughing was coming from, Hoffman very gently pulled the door shut, mentally promising that he would be back. Anger boiled in his stomach; he was so fucking close. For the second time. _Tomorrow,_ he vowed to himself as he quickly and quietly crossed the floor to the entrance to the apartment. _While she's at work, tomorrow I won't let anything else get in the way._

     Hoffman locked the door behind him as he exited the apartment, jaw clenched as he rounded the bannister to go down the stairs. _Third time's a charm._

_~_

_Third time's a charm, third day back to work should be a fucking charm too, so why the hell does this day suck?_ Lia sat back in her chair at her desk at work, her phone line on disconnect for longer than she should have had it. _Fuck this place._ She knew it was melodramatic, but she really felt like the world was out to get her today. That full moon, she mused, taking a sip of her ice cold Starbucks Frappucino in the glass bottle. She'd been trying not to drink that as much, but today, she just needed it. Actually, she'd bought two on her trip out to CVS. Third day back from medical leave and she gets called into the office for her lotion and hand sanitizer being too strong, and she was pissed. It was nice to see her favorite co-workers, but the bitches could all go hang themselves for all she cared. They did nothing but come between her and her job.

     The only saving grace was that at least she started her new shift this week, eight to four thirty. Much better than the six am shift. She had another hour to sleep, and actually had time to put her face on before she went to work. But today she still felt like crap. Taking a large swig of her coffee, she signed herself off on bathroom break and rose from her chair, stretching her sprained ankle, which was healing nicely (knock on wood). It hadn't been a bad sprain, she'd been told in the hospital, so she was able to walk in on it, just had to keep it wrapped. She patted the shoulder of one of her favorite co-workers as she passed her by, and exited the room, making the bells on the door jingle as it shut behind her. She passed by the bathroom outside the office entirely; it was usually occupied, and if it was empty, the smell could send the devil running back to hell. She never even bothered with that one unless she was desperate. She always just went to the one in the basement; it was quieter, and she didn't have to worry about someone trying to bang on the door and come in while she was doing her business.

     The building for the call center was oddly structured - it was attached to the hospital, yet there was only one entrance to the hospital from the part of the building, and it was always locked. _Kind of silly_ , she always thought. What was the point of putting a door in there if there was no way of getting through unless you had a key? There were a lot of things wrong with the workplace though, this was just one out of many on a long list. It was money though, an income, and that was the main thing on the upside list. And the best thing was that she had friends here, friends who loved her. That meant more to her than every dollar.

     The stairwell was quiet, as usual. The trek down a few flights of stairs never bothered her, even in her condition.

     When Lia reached the first floor, she heard someone coming up the stairs from the basement. She moved to the right side of the stairs so they would have enough room to walk past her. When she looked up to smile at the person coming up the stairs, her face froze in place, as did her feet in mid-step down the stairs. She was met with none other than Mark Hoffman coming up the stairs, much to her complete shock. She knew she'd see him again, but she didn't think she'd see him in her workplace, stalking up the stairs in that same black jacket and black pants.

     Talk about having the _breath_ stolen from your lungs.

     The moment she realized who it was, Lia turned and booked it back up the stairs. She heard him swear behind her and thunder up the stairs after her. Even with her hobble, she was still quick. She ran out onto the first floor, heading for the conference room to the left of the stairwell entrance. Something heavy crashed into her from behind, shoving her forward bodily into the very room she'd been trying to reach. _Apparently not fast enough._ A sting went up her leg as she caught herself from falling, of course with the bad ankle. She shrieked at the sudden pain, and a large gloved hand clapped over her mouth, forcefully enough to make her start to panic. She thrashed against him, not even caring about the stitches now; anxiety had set in hard - what was to become of her? Hoffman kicked the door shut behind him, struggling with keeping her writhing body locked in his arms. 

     " _Fuck you_ -" she grunted, kicking out and bucking her body to try and throw him off "-Mother _fucker_ -" A wet, awful smelling salty cloth was cupped over her face, and she gagged at the smell (and taste, ugh). She didn't smell it for long, though; within a matter of seconds, she had passed out into an instantaneous slumber. Dead to the world asleep, she wasn't conscious to hear his sigh of relief. _Game over._

 

 


	7. The House of Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Burn me, reducing the stigma  
> Born to live in this house of shame  
> While I dig the grave on my path to find faith  
> You weren't there while I was dying  
> You're the reason I'm feeling so deranged  
> I will stay here and haunt you forever..."  
> ~ 'The House of Shame' - Lacuna Coil

     Hoffman stepped back from the wooden chair he had just spent ten minutes tying Lia Hunt to. Normally it would not have taken him that long to do such a simple task, but he was trying hard to not cause her any more discomfort than she was already in. If she had been a criminal, he would not have been so lenient. Instead, he found a chair that wasn't uncomfortable to tie her to, and he tried to avoid tying too tightly over areas where she had been cut. The most considerate he'd ever been when it came to capturing someone. He figured she probably wasn't going to talk if he treated her like any common piece of shit. He'd found her psych file while scrounging for information about her in her records, and learned that she saw psychiatry in St. Eustace frequently for depression and anxiety. This struck him as interesting - the lively person he saw on her Facebook page didn't at all seem like the depressive type. He knew from experience though that it was something that could be hidden if one had enough discipline. If she was in fact suicidal, then death threats wouldn't touch her. He was going about this a different way than he normally would've. Hoffman had never been one for finesse - charm had never been his thing, even he knew that. But if he could at least show some consideration, maybe she'd be more willing to talk. Couldn't hurt to try.

     Bending forward, he gripped the two front legs of the chair he'd sat her in and pulled her forward a few inches so that she'd be closer to where he was going to sit, on the couch. Now, he would wait.

     Hoffman sat back onto the couch, relaxing for the first time that morning. Even when he had come home from paying the house visit to Lia's apartment, he hadn't slept. He was too busy anticipating the change in plans; doing a little more research. If he'd taken her in the night from her own home, nobody would have noticed until she hadn't shown up for work. With the change of plans, he ended up having to take her from a very public place, in broad daylight. Somewhere he was much more likely to be sighted.

     Thankfully, that hadn't happened.

     The odd part that had thrown him off in the beginning was that she hadn't shown up until eight am. He'd pulled up across from the building around five thirty that morning, parking the Jeep and climbing into the back where the windows were tinted. At six on the dot, he'd focused full attention on the main entrance into the building. Nothing. Another worker had shown up; a tall, very pregnant blonde woman who'd pulled her car up and parked right behind him. She'd walked to the entrance, waved her badge in front of the controlled access scanner, and had been granted passage into the building. He hadn't worried then; maybe Lia had woken up late, maybe she was just a chronically late person. At six thirty, though, the worry had crept in. It was an awful feeling: uncertainty. He hated it. The last time he'd felt that way was when Jill Tuck had tried to kill him with that Goddamn reverse bear trap mechanism John had loved so much, and then she'd escaped right before him. _Then_ he had panicked. While waiting for Lia to arrive, he felt the paranoia creeping up his spine; had he gotten the time wrong? He wasn't used to being unsure. He felt disgusted on the rare occasion that he did second guess himself. He'd wondered if maybe she'd gone in a different entrance; maybe that was why he hadn't seen her. All excuses aside, it wouldn't have made sense for her to go in a different way. They were both around the back of the building, and the direction she would have to come from where she lived led right to the front entrance. _Maybe she went to the hospital first._ But then, that wouldn't have made sense either - normally appointments didn't begin until eight am, seven at the earliest. _Maybe_ went a long way - he hated using that word. He liked _yes_ and _no_ , _black_ and _white_. Wracking his brain, he did indeed feel unsure as he wondered maybe if he'd missed something. But _how?_ It didn't make any sense.

     He'd decided to give it a while longer before he went in there and hunted her down. Agitation grew along with his worry; what the _fuck_ was going _on?_ He was all but ready to storm in, grab her by that pretty pink bob and drag her out to the car.

     At five minutes to eight, he saw her.

     Relief flooded through him. _About damn time._ She stepped out of the passenger side of the little '09 Versa, jerking her head to one side to flip her hair out of her face. It was shorter than it had been when he'd seen her in the hospital - it had been down to her shoulders then, and now it was an inverted cut. Shorter in the back, longer on the sides, longer on her left side than on her right side. He could see in this light that underneath the pale pink, the underside of her hair was black. She wore work clothes, and appeared comfortable despite the amount of discomfort she may have been experiencing due to her healing injuries. Grey work pants, black boots, black sweatshirt, and a big bag he guessed all her work stuff was in. He could see, even from this distance, that she had some pretty dramatic eye makeup on, as she did in many of her photos on Facebook.

     Once she'd gone into the building, as soon as the door had shut behind her, everything had been officially set in motion. ne door closed for both of them, metaphorically, but another one had opened in the form of opportunity.

     The rest, after that, had been a piece of cake. He'd wrestled with her a bit, not wanting to cause further injury and make her less willing to talk. Instead of tranquilizing her like he did most of his victims, he'd brought the chloroform patches. Equally unpleasant, but minus the sting of a needle in a possibly healing laceration. He'd left her in the conference room momentarily, and had brought his car around back to where another entrance to the structure was. He'd taken her badge so he could get back into the building, grabbed her on his return trip, and had taken her out that back way while everyone else was working. The back entrance also happened to have a large dumpster blocking the door from whatever person might be walking along the sidewalk behind him, and he hadn't noticed any cameras upon his look around the building, nor in the blueprint layout of the building. _Controlled access my ass._

     And now, here she was. _Your move, kid. Checkmate._

     Now, he just had to wait for her to wake up, and then this part of the game could begin. Studying her asleep in the chair, he figured it might be a while before that happened. The chloroform was strong; knocked someone out on their ass and ensured that they'd be dead to the world through any outside disturbance. The effect of it typically lasted for about two hours, so right now, Lia was just coming up on hour number two. She hadn't stirred at all on the way here; not even when he was tying her to the chair. Looking at her now, he wondered if he should gag her. It was something he'd just noticed - he didn't usually have to do that with people he took, since they were normally in places where they could scream till they lost their voices, and nobody would hear them but him. He didn't think anyone would hear her if she was to try and call out for help, but thinking about it now, it was something best not left to chance. He picked up the roll of duct tape next to him on the coffee table, and tore off a small piece. Leaning forward he placed one hand under her chin to tilt her head up, pressing the tape over her lips with his other hand. She drooled when she slept; he'd discovered that quickly when he'd gone to pull her from the back of the Jeep and there was a puddle under her head. Now, some of it was on his fingers. He absently wiped it off on his black sweatpants, regarding her thoughtfully. Would she really be as calm and collected as she'd appeared the last time he saw her? Or would she drop the act this time?

Rising off of the couch, Hoffman pulled his dark sweatshirt over his head, revealing a black t-shirt underneath. Thank God he'd thought to pay for heat when renting this place; it was getting pretty fucking bitter outside. Draping the sweatshirt over the back of the couch, he headed for the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. As soon as his shoes hit the linoleum of the kitchen floor, he heard a moan come from the room he'd just walked out of. He checked his watch, hearing the initial sounds of struggle come from the living room. She was early, just about an hour on the dot. It was eleven forty-five - he'd gone in to get her about ten fifty am. Even better than what he'd been banking on.  
He reached into the fridge and grabbed two bottled waters, then turned and strode back into the living room. _Make your choice._

_~_

     _Tired._ She was so  _tired_. She would've sold her soul if she could just go back to sleep, but she had to pee something fierce, and she had to change position because her ass was killing her. She shifted, attempting to stretch out her legs before she realized that she couldn't move them at all - they were stuck, somehow.  _What the fuck?_ She opened her eyes, not recognizing at all where she was. Sometimes that tended to happen even in her own room - she would awake disoriented before looking around and realizing she was in her room in her apartment. This was not one of those times. She stared directly across from where she sat, and she was looking at a cracked blue painted wall behind a dingy looking dark green couch. She did not recognize this place.

     Lia turned her head from side to side, looking around this strange place as her panic began to rise. She found she couldn't cry out even if she'd wanted to because there was something harsh and strong covering her lips and holding them closed.  _Holy shit_ _, where am I where am I holy shit_. She tried not to let the anxiety of the situation cloud her thought process - she had to stay rational. 

     She tried to take deep breaths through her nose as she heard footsteps nearing her from another room.  _It's okay, it's okay..._ A bottle of water was set on the wooden coffee table near her right hand, and she jumped though she'd heard the footsteps come closer and pause behind her. Was that for her? 

     Then she got a whiff of her captor's scent - be it cologne, aftershave, deodorant,  _hairspray_ , whatever it was - and it all flooded back with a vengeance. They say you never forget a small because it can take you right back to the moment you first inhaled it.  _They_ , whoever they were, were not kidding. She was immediately sucked into the vortex of memories that accompanied the smell of Mark Hoffman. Seeing him for the first time in the hospital, talking to him, hearing his voice, seeing him coming up the stairs as she was going down. When he walked around her and stood between her and the couch, she had already braced herself to see his face, and was not shocked when his blue eyes met her brown ones. 

      _I am in such deep shit right now. Oh, my God._


	8. Swamped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's just another day  
> the shame is gone  
> it's hard to believe  
> that I've let it go away."  
> \- 'Swamped' ~ Lacuna Coil

     The two stared at each other for a long while, not moving an inch. Mark Hoffman was sitting across from Lia on the scraggly green couch, and she was tied to a chair directly in front of him. _At least now there's some excitement in my life._ That thought made her sound even more insane than she already felt sometimes, but unfortunately, it was the truth.

     Lia wasn't even going to bother asking him why she was there - she knew very well that he had it out for her, for whatever reason. Thought she knew more than she really did. This, she thought, was either working in her favor or against it. It could be working in her favor because if she "knew something", than that meant she was valuable. That was probably why she was still alive, sitting here in the uncomfortable wooden chair with her wrists tied behind her back, instead of at the bottom of the lake. On the other hand though, if he thought she knew too much, he might've brought her here to torture the information out of her or kill her... Or torture her and _then_ kill her. _What does he think that someone like me could possibly have to do with this?_ This all felt like a big joke.

     She told him that. "This is a joke, right? It's gotta be."

     Hoffman leveled his gaze, his jaw tight, "Do I look like I'm joking?"

     That question pricked the spark of anger within her. "Do I _look_ like I'm fucking joking? What the fuck is your problem?"

     Hoffman exhaled through his nose, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees. "Right now, you are my problem. And since you're here with me, I think it's safe to say there is nothing humorous about this situation." Lia glared at him, waiting for him to get to the point. "Now, I'll ask again: What do you know?"

     If he leaned any closer, she was certain she could head-butt the shit out of him. She was really tempted to try. Thinking about it, though, she had no idea how to properly head-butt someone, so she'd most likely only wind up with a concussion and a rope tying her neck to the back of the chair as well.

     Man, it sucked being held captive. There weren't that many options to actually _do_ shit.

     Sighing out through her nose at him, she answered. "I don't _know anything_ , I woke up in an old parking lot that, honestly, I wouldn't remember the layout of even if you had a gun to my head right now. I don't know why I was dumped there, but I do know that none of this has anything to do with _you_." She added, "I don't know what I - What else I have to say. No matter what I do you're not gonna believe me."

     "Try me." Hoffman challenged evenly, "How did you wind up there?"

     "Someone fucking dumped me there after they beat the shit out of me, that's how." Lia snarled. She didn't want him knowing her business - what right did he have that she had to tell him all of this?

     "Who was it?" Hoffman kept his cool, most definitely the cop in him keeping him from reacting with emotion. She didn't have that type of control right now - she was too pissed off. At him, at the world, at everything.

      She shook her head, trying to ward off the onslaught of tears that were suddenly trying to crawl their way out of her eyes. She hoped he didn't notice - she didn't want him to think he was getting to her, cuz he wasn't. "Just some guy, I don't know who. I don't even remember what he looks like. I barely saw his face."

     "Why did he do it?" There was no trace of sympathy in his voice, barely any humanity. It was almost like he was asking her what the last TV show she'd watched had been. Like he didn't care what the answer was.

     "I don't have to tell you that," she replied coldly, glaring into his blue eyes. Sitting in such close proximity to him, where he was right before her with wary eyes, she realized once again how handsome he was, even though she currently hated his guts. He was the kind of handsome that she bet had made him a knockout when he was younger, those full lips and blue eyes and that strong jawline with a stern set to it. Age had been good to him - plus she preferred an aged look so he was okay with her. More than okay. Time and age had caused some paunch in his gut, and a tiny bit of weight around his face, but it only added to his attractiveness. If she had to guess she would say that he was in his early to mid forties. What was once a body of all muscle was now still hard sinew, but covered by a layer of paunch. His eyes held a no bullshit attitude, and they didn't waver from her. She noticed a massive laceration on the right side of his face, from the corner of his mouth to the middle of his cheek. Whoever had stitched it up had done a very good job, because she hadn't even noticed until she'd stared at him for a few minutes. _Too bad he's a serial killer, otherwise I would've jumped on this train._ It was going to scar - she could tell just by looking at it. However, it would not do anything to diminish that hotness, of that she was sure.

     "I don't have to tell you anything - I don't care what you think." she added. It was true - she was not obligated to tell him anything. There was nothing that she owed him.  
Hoffman sighed through his nose at her words, closing his eyes and tilting his head down towards the floor. The picture of self control; _I will not punch this girl in the face, Lord_ _give me the patience..._ She knew it was an act. Sure, he was frustrated, she knew. She wasn't exactly cooperating. But she knew he was just doing that for show to get her to loosen up. _Like hell._

     "Miss Lia Hunt," he said, suddenly, still not looking at her, eyes closed and head tilted down. "Amelia Clarice, otherwise known as Lia, born June twenty first, 1987; lives at 425 Watercress Lane apartment C-19; single, never married-"

     Lia stared at him with something akin to horror as he continued to list off personal aspects of her life - where she worked, her mother's name, her fucking shoe size. " _Christ_ ," she stated when he'd come to a pause, although he may have just been gearing up for another rush of information. "Do you know my Goddamn bra size too? Has that information gotten you far in life?"

     "Knowing how to obtain this information has gotten me very far." Hoffman replied, completely ignoring the bra size question (which she was actually genuinely curious about!).

     "Yeah, I can tell. It's gotten you so far that you decided to become a serial killer, and abuse the power you have in order to obtain this information."

     Hoffman smirked at her, and it was not a nice one. "Of course - how else would I have risen to this level? John Kramer may be dead, but I've ensured that his legacy has lived. _Serial killer_ ," He scoffed at the title, "That's what people want to think, but I'm not the monster here - John Kramer wasn't the monster. It's the people that the news channels claim are the victims that are the real monsters. We all know it - it's not sick to admit if it's the truth. Jigsaw doesn't randomly pick innocent people to test. He specifically chooses criminals, thieves, murderers. People that are doing wrong - that are living but not appreciating their lives." His blue eyes were fierce - he wasn't delusional. He was dead serious that what he was doing was the right thing.

     He stopped then, waiting for a response from her, she assumed. Lia stared at him carefully for a moment before answering. "I understand."

     Undeterred, Hoffman asked point blank: "Do you?"

     "Not completely," she added, shifting in the chair she was tied to, "but I do understand about the victims not being good people. Sometimes I feel like justice isn't properly served, so, I guess revenge is the way to go, eye for an eye... I don't know."

     Hoffman was staring at her while she babbled, and she could tell from his eyes that he was considering her words. Then he said, "Are you sure you don't know who did this to you?"

     Lia rolled her eyes at him. He was fucking _persistent_. "Dude, if I knew who he was, I'd have no problem telling you. Seriously, justice can give it to him right up the ass for what he did - I'll be happy to hunt him down myself for ya, save you the hassle."

     "If you don't know who he is, how would you find him?" Hoffman inquired in a very cop-like tone.

     "I'd find the people who hired them." she answered, unruffled, "and I'd make them take me to him. Then I'd save them for last."

     "And to answer another question I can't remember if you already asked me-" _Damn the concussion_ \- "No, I don't know how he knew where to find your secret lair - but I have trouble believing that him dumping me there is a coincidence. I guess somehow he knew Jigsaw lived there..."

     Hoffman continued not to say anything, but she knew he was listening to her, considering everything she said. She decided then that she was done talking - she wanted to consider something _he_ said.

     It was quiet for a few moments in the chilly room - did he _not_ know anything about heat? - so quiet a pin could have dropped and they both would have heard it.  
Tired of the silence, Lia finally sighed, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, "So, what now?"

                                                                                                       ~

     Hoffman was really, honest to God considering... whatever it was she was proposing. Maybe not so much as _proposing_ as she was _implying._

     He had since untied her from the chair, and while she was no longer bound to it she still remained in it. After she'd practically ran to the bathroom, and he'd stood outside the door uninvited to make sure she didn't try to escape out the small window. He'd also only untied her on the condition that she promised to not attempt anything stupid. _"Define_ _'supid'."_ she'd stated with an eye roll, then proceeded to tell him that if she _tried anything_ , he'd be unconscious on the floor and she'd be on her merry way. She said she promised not to _try anything_ only because she wasn't ready to leave yet - she was interested in what he had to say.

     Her spunk made him chuckle - she was not afraid when she really should have been. There were about a million things he could kill her with in this house, including his own two hands. Being a cop for so long meant he had learned a lot of ways to immobilize a person. He could kill someone with a raw egg if he had to. Anything could be a weapon. It was all about keeping a clear head, remaining rational. Hoffman sensed that this girl could make a really good cop if she wanted to (in her file he'd seen that she'd briefly studied criminal justice for her first year at college before she transferred schools and majors). She had a level-mindedness about her that was intriguing - she would have done well working for the law. He wondered, if things had been different, if they would have ended up working alongside each other.

     So, here they were, sitting across from one another once more; he on the couch and she in the chair. She had the bottle of water that he'd left out for her in her hands, taking gulps from it like her life depended on it. He didn't blame her - what little heat there was in here made the place very dry. She didn't appear to be worried that he may have poisoned the water (which he hadn't). He thought logically that the bottle had been sealed - newly manufactured and not tampered with. But she didn't check the cap for a syringe mark, nor the rest of the bottle. She wasn't a cop, though she tried to act like she had the smarts of a cop.

     "Is there a reason you're staring at my water?" she asked suddenly, her voice as dry as the air around them.

     Lost in thought, he nearly jumped when her voice cut through the silence, and he flicked his eyes up to her dark ones to glare at her. She raised her eyebrows at him, now chewing on a mini Kit Kat she'd found in her coat pocket. "Waiting for me to drop dead?" She took another bite of the candy, "You're gonna be pretty disappointed 'cuz I feel very much alive right now."

     "You really think I'd go through all this trouble just to poison your water?" he scoffed, shaking his head. "I can think of more gratifying ways to kill you, _trust me_."

     "Then why haven't you?"

     "Clearly I haven't learned everything there is to know yet - it'd be stupid to gut you and throw you away without that knowledge."

     Lia made a face at his choice of words, but it was not a scared face. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair, looking at him. She had false eyelashes on, and they fluttered when she blinked hypnotizing eyes at him.

     " _Well_ , I've got a proposition for you." Lia stated then, leaning forward suddenly in her chair and resting her elbows on her knees. "We can help each other."

     Hoffman tilted his head at her, "You're willing to put your trust into _Jigsaw_?" he asked; when he said it like that it made it sound even stupider. He knew this.

     "Well you were a cop before you killed people, so I'm hoping most of that judgement still lives in you - there's obviously a reason you were a cop before you were _Jigsaw..."_

     Hoffman gave no physical indication as to whether or not he agreed with her or didn't agree; he said, "Go on."

     Lia sized him up openly, "You seem like a pretty smart guy, so I'm hoping that by now you've realized that I am not at _all_ involved in whatever you think I was involved in to begin with, aka the whole reason you brought me here to begin with, aka the whole reason you showed up in my _hospital_ room to begin with-"

     "Point?" Hoffman was becoming impatient. Storytelling and dramatizing was clearly her forte.

     She sighed. "My _point_ is that there is somebody who knows about you, and someone who wants me dead, or at least is wishing I was dead. What if this is all connected? What if you're right? Hell, even if you're wrong, I'll tell you what little I _do_ know if you help me." She swallowed, looking suddenly very eager, eyes rabid. "What I know about this whole thing isn't a whole hell of a lot where you're concerned, but hey, every little bit helps right?"

     Hoffman considered this, lips pursed, "And what do you get out of this?"

     Lia's shoulders rose a bit - not in a pretentious way, but almost like a weight was being lifted.

     She answered with a smile: "I want you to help me kill someone."


	9. Emotionless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "With lips closed and eyes sealed  
> You're a sculpture with a pulse  
> I wanna capture your essence and keep it here forever, little one  
> And I feel good about you not telling anyone..."  
> ~ 'Emotionless' - Red Sun Rising

     The car ride back was interesting, to say the least. Lia wished she could've said she was enjoying the weather, but the truth was she couldn't even tell what color the sky was - he'd actually gone so far as to blindfold her, like she gave a dusty shit where they were. She couldn't blame him, though. Obviously someone in his position was going to take every precaution there was. That included making six million turns and blindfolding her for the first fifteen minutes of the car ride. For all she knew he had just done figure eights around two blocks for fifteen minutes and then pulled over to a side street to take the blindfold off.  
  
     "Don't you think I should know where your _'secret lair'_ is if we're gonna be working together?" Lia asked him as he was untying the blindfold, hissing when a few pieces of her short hair were pulled between the blindfold and his gloves.  
  
     "Don't you think you should leave this to the professionals?" Hoffman retorted, tugging the do-rag off her face quickly. Lia blinked in the darkness of the car - it was now dark outside, as well. Worry crept into her heart. Her mother was going to be worried about her.  
  
     "Do you have my phone?" Panicking, Lia searched through her coat and pants pockets. It wasn't on her.  
  
     "In my pocket," Hoffman replied as he shifted the car into drive and continued on down the road.  
  
     "I need it, please, I need to text my mom. And work."  
  
     "To tell them you've been kidnapped?"  
  
     " _Hell no_ , I still need you out of prison if you're gonna be helping me! I need to tell my mom I'm okay - she's gonna be really worried. And I doubt you're gonna be paying me, so, like, I need to keep my job."  
  
     Hoffman reached one gloved hand into his left coat pocket - the pocket she couldn't reach unless she were to climb on top of him. God, he was so _paranoid_. If she was going to do anything, it would be either knock him out while he was driving or open up the door and jump out. Not try to call for help on the phone which he currently had and hope that he wouldn't notice. _Seriously._  
  
     He held up her phone, looking at her, "I get to type the message," He pulled over to the side of the road once again, "We'll figure out your work when we get closer. Fair?"  
  
     "Fair," She nodded, relief flooding through her veins.

     Hoffman set the phone on one of his jean clad thighs and pulled both leather gloves off. He tossed them up onto the dashboard of the Jeep and lifted the phone once again. It was a Tracfone - Lia didn't need anything fancy or expensive, just something she could bum around with; bring when she drove somewhere, when she was at work, etc.

     Hoffman flipped it open and navigated to the messaging screen.

     "She's under _mom_ ," Lia didn't even think when she said that, and immediately mentally face palmed, especially when Hoffman turned his head to give her a what the fuck look. "Oh my God, I can't believe I just said that."

     Much to her surprise, Hoffman actually laughed. Not in a nasty way, but in a genuinely amused manner.

     " _Jesus_ ," Lia laughed too, shaking her head, "What else would she be under? _Duhhh!"_

     "Right, so, now that we've established that your mom is listed as _mom_ -"

     "Well I don't know! Some people call their parents by their first names! I was trying to be _helpful_ ," Lia was still giggling over the whole thing, knowing she probably would be for a while.

     "How should I start?"

     Lia didn't even ask if she had missed any calls - the clock on the dash read 4:30. She'd been out of work for a long while, so there were bound to be some messages and missed calls. Right now, she didn't want to know. She already felt gulit pooling in her gut, even though she hadn't wanted to be kidnapped.

     "Um," She thought for a moment, "'Hi mom, I'm okay'," She saw Hoffman's thumbs press over the tiny keypad as she spoke, "'Just wanted to let you know I've been kidnapped by'-"

     Hoffman cut her a look, blue eyes flashing, "Not funny."

     "Oh, come _on_ man, lighten the hell up," Lia grinned at him, all prospect of being kidnapped in the first place pushed aside. She was going to get her revenge, she was going to have someone capable of helping her actually help her. She felt like things were looking up, as weird as it sounded. Just as long as she got her revenge - the anticipation of it was making her jittery.

     Hoffman chose not to reply, instead narrowing his eyes at her in an unimpressed way. Rolling her eyes, she gave him a rundown of what she wanted him to say - that she had fainted at work in the conference room on a break and was now on her way to the ER. "Can't you take a joke?" She added, then quickly said, "Don't type that."

     Now Hoffman shook his head, stuffing the phone back in his pocket, "I didn't realize being in the car with a murderer was so much fun,"

     "You've never met someone like me, brother, and why are you so hipped up on being called a murderer? You say it's not murder, then you turn around and use the title."

     "That's what society decided," he replied, yanking the car into drive, "That's how they label Jigsaw because they don't understand. Yet, you don't seem to mind any of this," He glanced over at her, then back at the road, "You may not trust me, but I don't trust you either."

     "Dude, I just told you I wanted you to help me _kill_ someone, and you still don't trust me?"

     "That doesn't make a single difference."

     _"...Really_? Then what the hell would?"

     "Give me some time, then we'll talk about it."

     Lia slouched back against her seat, looking at him like he was full of shit. "Are you really _friendzoning_ me on a trust level? I can't figure you out at all," She crossed her arms angrily, "Fine, well then, I guess we won't find out who's trying to kill you. I _know_ who tried to kill _me."_

     "I didn't say _no_ ; I just said give me time to figure you out. And if you really want to start speeding things up, you can tell me why the _hell_ anyone tried to kill you in the first place."

     Lia turned her head to look out the window, watching streetlamps as they whizzed by the windows. The car picked up speed as they passed under a green light and headed towards the highway that led out of this part of town. "Remember when I said I _didn't_ want to bring it up?"

     "Remember when I just said _I don't trust you_?" She didn't look at him, but she felt him look at her briefly, " _Make_ me trust you."

     Lia scoffed, "I doubt anyone can make you do anything - you don't _want_ to trust me. And I don't wanna tell you what happened. I didn't even wanna tell the detective working on the case."

     "Why not?"

     Lia really couldn't think of a better answer than: "Because it's stupid." Because it really was stupid. It was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard of.

     Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hoffman glance at her again. The street lamps were becoming fewer and farther between as they got further down onto the highway - the only light from the inside of the car was from the clock on the dashboard.

     "It's stupid what happened or it's stupid that you almost died?" he asked, trying to clarify her statement.

     "Both," she answered, "The whole thing."

     The two were silent for a moment, and just at the moment where it would have become an uncomfortable silence, Hoffman spoke again, "What happened?"

     Lia couldn't blame him for being curious. She would have been too, given the cryptic lack of context. If he found out, though, he'd probably think it was dumb, because it was.  
She was silent for a moment, trying to think of what she could tell him that would leave out the ridiculous parts. There was a voice in her head, whispering _Why not just tell him the whole thing? Who gives a shit what he thinks about you? Why does it matter?_

     The truth was: It _didn't_ matter. And she _shouldn't_ give a shit what he thought about her. She _didn't._

     Right when she was about to get into the whole thing, he spoke again: "I can almost assure you that whatever it is will be far from the stupidest story I've ever heard."

     "I know, just, _shh,_ I'm trying to tell you."

     Hoffman fell silent, waiting. The car was warm now, the sounds of tires on the road lulling the atmosphere.

     "My best friend lived a couple of miles from me in an apartment building," she began, "With her fiancé. A bunch of us used to get together over there a lot - they're the only ones out of the group that don't live with their parents right now, so, ideal place to hang out." She watched the dark road ahead of them, watched the lines blur as they continued to speed on by. "I roomed with her in college. I didn't graduate, I was only there for a year. But we got really close and kept in constant contact. She was one of the handful of people I knew for sure I could trust for the rest of my life. Someone I could count on. Shows how much I know."

     Hoffman remained his silent, observational self throughout her speech. He didn't even utter a word when she paused to gather her thoughts, which she appreciated.

     She sighed and continued, "Anyway, she and her fiancé just moved into this place about a year ago - and they're both the friendliest people on Earth, so they can get on with anyone, anywhere. Turns out they had a pretty cute upstairs neighbor... who they then tried to set me up with. I  _hate_ this."

     Hoffman looked over at this - her sudden declaration and abrupt stop to the story. "What?"

     "The situation, the story, _them._ It's all so fucking _dumb._ I don't know how I let myself walk into such a dumbass situation."

     Hoffman didn't say anything for a long moment, but then he came out with, "So you had a falling out with your friends, which resulted in them hiring a spook to kill you?"

     Shrugging non-committedly, since he'd nailed it on the head, she replied, "Pretty much." She looked over at him and saw him nod. He was probably thinking about how idiotic the whole thing sounded - how lame. She actually wanted to cry just thinking about it. The friendship that she'd had couldn't even withstand a guy coming between then. And Marie already had been taken - she had a fucking husband-to-be, for God's sake - so a guy that wasn't even her fiancé had caused her to become this monster. That was _sick._ And to want Lia to die because of it? To wish for that to be the ending result of the situation... To think that they could _get away_ with it.

     "Why do they deserve to die?"

     Lia glanced over at him, hearing what he'd said but not processing, "What?"

     "Why do they deserve death? What have they done to prove they are unfixable?"

     Lia didn't know whether to laugh or to lean over and smack his head on the steering wheel. "Um, did you not hear what they did to me?"

     "I heard it; I read the file in the hospital," he replied simply, "I just question that you really know what you're asking for."

     If her jaw fell open anymore, it was going to hit her leg on the seat. Was he serious? He was the fucking Jigsaw killer - the one responsible for carrying on the legacy of John Kramer - and now he was questioning the morality of killing three people that well deserved it? She voiced this concern.

     "Please tell me you're joking." she added on. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard come out of his mouth.

     Hoffman threw her a cold, blue-eyed glare right before he flipped on his turn signal to board the ramp going off the highway. He must have been serious.

     "Well _fuck me,_ you're the fucking _Jigsaw killer_ and you're debating whether or not these assholes _deserve_ what is coming to them?! Last time I checked, murder is a crime - being a cop, they should have taught you that!"

     "Attempted murder is a crime," Hoffman agreed, "As well as mur-"

     " _Murder_. As well as _murder._ They fucking wanted me _dead._ He beat me within an inch of my life. If that holds no meaning to you then I guess I'll have to figure this whole thing out mys-"

     "Hold on - calm down," Hoffman raised the hand closest to her out off the steering wheel towards her.

     "No, you can fuck off! I don't know who gave you the fucking right to judge anyone when your fucking life is in shambles, but that's fine. I guess you're granted God status when you're a murderer. But don't you dare turn that _bullshit_ on me, you've got no _right._ Clearly, you've never been so wholly pissed off at what someone else has done and you know for a fact they won't see the light of justice unless you take it into your own hand. So no, sir. You _hold on._ Hold on to your _dick!"_

     "Lia-!"

     He jerked the car to a stop when she pushed the passenger door open - the sound of tires squealing split through the darkness. Swearing, Hoffman jammed the car into park, "What the fuck are you doing?!"

     "Leaving - fuck the deal! Fuck it all!" She tore off her seat belt, jumping out the door, "You can kiss my fucking ass if you think I'm gonna play this game with you!"

     "Will you get back in the Goddamn car before someone sees?!" Hoffman hissed, glancing quickly around - they were just on the outskirts of her town. "This is _ridiculous,"_

     " _Yes! It is!"_ She slammed the door before anything more could be said, turning and walking towards the lights of her town on the dark backroad. Tires on gravel crept up on her from behind her long strides (she tried her best to surpass the limp that was biting at her), but she didn't slow, arms crossed over her chest. The Jeep pulled up as close as he could get it to her side, following at the same pace of her walk. She heard the window roll down and kept on walking.

     "Lia."

     Still kept walking. Didn't break the stride.

     An exasperated sigh, "Where are you going?"

     "Home - where the hell d'ya _think_ I'm going?"

     "You can't walk with your- don't be stupid, get in." He reached over and opened the passenger side door from the drivers side, nearly bonking her in the ass with it. She jumped out of the way, but kept walking.

     " _No."_

     " _Lia,"_ His voice was a mixture of annoyance and long suffered exhaustion. "Come _on,"_

     If anyone was to drive by the scene, it would no doubt appear to be some sort of domestic situation. If only it was that simple. In reality, Lia had exited the car while they'd been speeding down the road, angrily refusing to get back in because he was questioning helping her kill some people who'd tried to have her murdered. Who the _hell_ did that happen to?

     "No, I already told you," she huffed, continuing to stomp towards the town. It would take her a while - it was still a couple of miles yet, but she'd be damned if she got back in that car.

     "What would you think if you were me? Would you trust you?"

     "I'd trust a woman who just got the shit beaten out of her by some random asshole off the street that was hired as an impersonal means to an end by someone who she loved - which, can I add, is a _fucking insult._ If you want me dead, come kill me _yourself."_

     "Alright," Hoffman growled, shoving the car into park once more and opening his own door, jumping out and stomping towards her.

     She whipped around to face him, "Touch me and I'll beat the fucking shit outta you-"

     "Get. In. The. Car." Each word was punctuated by every other step of his boots on the road.

     "Go. Fuck. Yourself." When he stopped right in front of her, she walked towards him until they were practically nose to nose. Well, nose to chin; he was half a head taller than her.

     "I don't have a problem throwing you in the trunk." His nostrils flared with anger.

     "Then _do it_. That's the only way I'm going back in th- _ACK!"_ With one swoop, Hoffman hauled her up in his arms and over his shoulder. "Christ- _Stitches!_ Watch the _stitches!"_ she screeched, pounding on his back with her fists. The only outward reaction he made to that was a grunt of pain, but he held her fast and kept his stride. When he reached the back of the Jeep, he took one hand off of her to pop open the trunk door.

     "Man, you'd better start fucking running real fa-" He swiftly plopped her down in the empty trunk, amidst her yelling. Unfortunately for him, his first mistake was letting go of her to try and close the door. She reached out and slapped him hard across the face - she made sure if was her left hand smacking the right side of his face with the scar on it. He hissed, grabbing hold of that wrist and trying to grab onto the other with his free hand. She kicked out with her right leg, catching him in the stomach and throwing him off balance. He growled, climbing into the trunk to try and hold her down. After a few minutes, which had been a blur of wrestling arms and swinging fists (on her part), and snarls of pain (on his part), the two were breathing heavily and tangled uncomfortably in the small trunk space in a struggle of power. Hoffman had his legs around her, as much as he could in the cramped area, and had one of her wrists pinned down to the bed of the trunk. With his other hand he was trying to pry her free hand out of his hair, which she had clenched tightly in her fist.

     Then, from behind them, came the chirp of a siren. Slowly, both turned their heads to observe a patrol car rolling up to park behind the Jeeps open trunk, lights flashing red and blue. Collectively, out of breath, both muttered " _Shit,"_ at the same time.

     Currently, that was the one thing they'd managed to agree on.


	10. Waking Up the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wakin' up the devil  
> Rattlin' the cage inside of me  
> I miss him a little  
> When he gets out, we're one hell of a team  
> I know when I leave  
> He locks up and throws away the key  
> But his hand's on the wheel and my foot's on the pedal  
> Wakin' up the devil..."  
> ~ "Waking up the Devil" - Hinder

_"Shit."_  
  
     It was well put, in this situation.  
  
     Hoffman didn't know how the hell he was going to talk himself out of this one. The last time he'd been cornered by cops he'd ended up leaving a bloodbath behind at the precinct where Jill Tuck had been hiding. It wasn't something he'd wanted to do, but it was something that had needed to be done in order to ensure his survival and his freedom.  
  
     He was just considering how efficiently he could disarm this officer - render him unconscious or, if it came down to it, kill him as well - when Lia suddenly lurched up as much as she could off the bed of the trunk. Her free hand released his hair and reached over the top of the backseat of the Jeep, fingers searching for something neither one of them could see, "You had a hat back there, I saw it earlier."  
  
     It took a split second for him to catch on, and then as soon as he did he practically vaulted over the top of the seat in search of the object, "You got a plan?"  
  
     "I hope it's a better one than I'm bettin' _you've_ got," Lia answered, hands reaching up to hold onto his waist as he finally found the cap.  
  
     Oh. It was _that_ kind of plan.  
  
     Crazy, but it may just be crazy enough to work. They were about to find out.  
  
     Hoffman hurriedly slapped the dark cap onto his head as he heard the door open from the squad car behind him. Lia's hands felt like fire on his waist even through his clothes. It was most likely because he hadn't been with anyone in a while. A long while. That's what he reminded himself as he leaned down towards her pretty face, those huge dark eyes. She smelled good, he noted as he nuzzled his face into her neck. He wasn't sure if it was her perfume or her hair, or maybe it was just her, but whatever it was it was good. Sweet, pleasant, feminine. He inhaled deeply as his nose touched her skin. He felt her wrap her arms around his waist, one hand in his hair as though in the throes of passion. Footsteps crunched in the gravel on the side of the road behind them. "Hey, folks, you're gonna have to take it somewhere else, this isn't a motel parking lot."  
  
     "Whoa, _sorry_ officer," Lia giggled, patting Hoffman on the butt, "Babe, _babe staaahp!_ There's someone here!"  
  
     Hoffman decided to make himself act as though he was extremely intoxicated; as if he didn't give a shit who was watching.  
  
     "Sorry," Lia said again as Hoffman sat up with her in two, his arms still wrapped around her waist, the brim of his hat pulled down low over his eyes, "He told me to pull over 'cuz he _'had to piss'_ but..." Hoffman would've loved to have seen the officer's face as Lia spoke - he'd sounded young, so he was probably trying his best to control his expressions. Still holding onto Hoffman, Lia leaned towards the cop like she was going to tell him a secret - even though she was nowhere near him and the other man was still hanging off of her "drunkenly", "I picked him up from the bar and he's feelin' a little _wooooo_ if you know what I'm sayin'."  
  
     The cop nodded, Hoffman saw from out of the corner of his eye underneath the brim ofÂ  the hat. He made himself sway on his feet a little, make like he was leaning on her to hold himself up. "Where you folks headed now?"  
  
     "Back to my place," Lia said with a wink. Hoffman wanted to laugh but didn't dare. Instead, he slurred something unintelligible, leaning his head closer to hers.  
  
     "And you were the one driving, am I right?" The officer sounded dubious. Hoffman wanted to scoff - he could barely stand up with the way he was portraying this drunken stupor. This kid must've been new.  
  
     "Oh, hell yeah," Lia replied, "This guy can barely stay on the road when he's _sober!"_  
  
     Hoffman pretended not to hear to the officer's eye, but behind Lia's back he pinched her shoulder.  
  
     "Is that a black eye, ma'am?"  
  
     Hoffman stiffened, and he felt Lia do the same in his embrace. "Yeah," she replied, shifting under his arm. It was impossible to not act a bit weird now - this could either make or break the outcome. "Like I said - can barely trust him on the road," She laughed, trying to lighten the mood. It had turned very tense very quickly. "No, but seriously, I did it to myself. I was opening, uh, the door to the car and I hit myself in the face with it." She shrugged like it happens, "I'm a major klutz."  
  
     "Ma'am, could you step forward for a moment please?"  
  
     Hoffman tried not to visibly react to the officers words - it took all of his willpower. _Don't do anything stupid._ Lia made like she was propping him against the trunk so he wouldn't fall over, hands on his waist again - "It's okay hon, I'll be right back," - and then she stepped forward to meet the officer. The officer spoke low but Hoffman could still hear him - if he'd actually been wasted it would've been a different story.  
  
     "Is there something you wanna tell me, ma'am? Everything okay?"  
  
     Hoffman decided he wouldn't kill this guy, if given the chance - he seemed to have a genuine concern for others' wellbeing's, which was one of the best traits a good cop had. He remembered himself many a time doing the same thing in a domestic situation - pulling a battered wife or child aside and trying to get them to say the words that would end the abuse. Words that he already knew they were thinking, but had to hear them say aloud for the record.  
  
     He waited with baited breath for what Lia would say - there were endless possibilities. He could be exposed. His gloved hands tightened into fists. _Don't do anything stupid, Hunt._  
  
     "Oh yeah, everything is fine," she replied, "I got this a while ago - car door, like I said, _pow_ right in the face. I just met him  tonight," She gestured behind herself to Hoffman, still leaning on the open trunk of the car, "if I'm being honest. Gonna _get to know him a little better_ , if you know what I mean."  
  
     Looking up under the brim of his hat, Hoffman saw the cop consider her words, knowing she had him now. He took a step back finally, accepting her story. "You folks have a good night then, drive home safe."  
  
     "Thank you, sir, you too," Lia went back to Hoffman and gripped his arm like a vice, pulling him up to lead him to the door on the passenger side, giggling, " _C'mon babe_ ," She made like she was pushing him into the seat - he almost flew into the dashboard at a particularly hard shove from her, which he shot her a glare for when he turned to face forward in his seat. She smiled cheerfully at him and shut the passenger side door, then made her way around the back of the car to close the trunk. Again, Hoffman waited for her to get in the car, wondering if she would run back to the patrol car, wondering if she was signaling for him to follow them. Wondering if she was angry enough to expose him. He felt a rush of relief when she opened the drivers side door and swung herself into the warm vehicle. Only when the door was firmly shut and she'd shifted the car into drive did he speak. "That would've been a hell of an opportunity to turn me in." He regarded her carefully as he said this.  
  
     "It sure would've," Lia replied, glancing in the rearview mirror back at the squad car. She pulled slowly back onto the road, and they both watched the cop car idle for a moment before he swung around in a U-turn in the opposite direction. Only then did they both fully relax.  
  
     "What stopped you?" he pressed.  
  
     " _Dude_ , what is with the _interrogation?_ And I already told you, I need you out of prison if you're gonna be helping me."  
  
     Hoffman turned his head to look at her sharply, "So now you want my help again," It was a statement rather than a question.  
  
     "Well, you gotta admit, we made a pretty good team back there." Lia replied.  
  
     Hoffman turned his eyes back to the road in front of them with a snort.  
  
     "And _you_ were the one trying to get me to get back in the car before the cop showed up."  
  
     "Because you can't walk home in the state that you're in," Hoffman practically growled. She just wouldn't _quit._  
  
     "And what state would that be?" She actually sounded borderline offended. _Really?_  
  
     "I'm wondering if it's not insanity," he muttered under his breath. He noted her cut him a look out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head once again to meet her glare.  
  
     "Hardy har har," They were just pulling into her town now; in a couple of turns they would be at her apartment. "Ya got about two minutes to decide, we'll be at my apartment soon."  
  
     "More like four minutes, traffic pending," he retorted, just to be a smartass.  
  
     She started to give him a weird look, then said, "Oh, _right,_ I forgot you know where I _live_." She made a right turn onto the main strip heading through town. There were a lot more street lamps to light their way now that they weren't out in the boonies outside of the city. "And you're welcome for saving your ass back there and covering for you. The way I see it, you _owe_ me one."  
  
     Hoffman didn't answer right away, partly because he didn't think it merited a response, partly because he knew she was right.  
  
     "And you _know_ I'm right, so don't even try to deny it in that oh so charming way of yours."  
  
     Leaning his head back against the headrest, Hoffman sighed through his nose for what must have been the millionth time that day, "You're so full of shit."  
  
     "I _knew_ you knew I was right," Lia said triumphantly, a smile in her voice, "So, you owe me, we're gonna help each other, and it's gonna be great!"  
  
     "Yeah, _great,"_ About as great as sticking your hand in a garbage disposal in a sink drain.  
  
     "Oh, you really need to lighten up," Lia made the turn to pull into the parking lot in her apartment complex. "I can help you with that - kill two birds with one stone."  
  
     "Do you _ever_ stop talking?"  
  
     Lia pulled up in front of her building, finding a spot open in visitor parking. " _That_ I can't help you with," She shifted the Jeep into park and turned to face him, "So, what's the plan?"  
  
     Oh, right. She was now covering for his ass for the second time today. _Shit._  
  
     "You got really dizzy at work so you got up to go to the restroom," he started, "Then you woke up in the conference room, and took yourself to the ER. How often is that conference room used?"  
  
     Lia shrugged, "Depends on the day; there's no real pattern. Some days there's people in there the all day, some days no one goes in at all,"  
  
     "Hopefully today was one of those days," Hoffman remarked, then continued, "I'll follow you in there and find a desk, tweak the computer records so it looks like you went in earlier than you actually d-" Lia raised her hand in the air, like she was in kindergarten and she had a question. "Yes?"  
  
     "Do I actually have to go to the hospital? If you can tweak the paperwork why can't you just make up a record stating that I was there?"  
  
     Hoffman blinked at her, "Are you serious?"  
  
     Lia blinked her false eyelash rimmed eyes exaggeratedly back at him, "It's been a long ass day - and the way I see it, you owe me _twice!_ I saved your ass back there, and I'm saving it now by making up this dumb-shit story!"  
  
     Hoffman growled in response, "Fine. I'll see what I can do, but it's not going to look good for you if you don't actually show your face there."  
  
     "Oh, please, there are so many people in and out of there, they wouldn't remember my face anyways. Plus, it's illegal for one department to access their employees medical records, so the call center will never know the difference whether I show up there or not; I'll just bring a doctor's note in in the morning. _Plus,_ I'd rather not take the attention off some poor person that actually needs help."  
  
     She had a point there. "Anything else you're like to request while I'm granting wishes?"  
  
     Lia looked at him seriously, lips pursed, "Are you gonna help me dole out some justice?"

     Hoffman considered her words. He would not help just anyone kill someone. John Kramer he would've done almost anything for. The man had re-awakened him, given his life a new purpose after the death of his sister. He had known the purest heartbreak, and he had been shown a new way to deal with it. Knowing that he could spare others the same torment he had experienced - that was why he'd become a cop to begin with, even before Angelina was murdered. To be the face of justice. Not many others would understand. However, he saw heartache in Lia's eyes as well. She hadn't lost an innocent to the hands of the wicked - she had been a _victim_ at those hands. Hands that she had trusted with her life; her own best friend. Someone she had cared for dearly and who had claimed to care for her just as much. All of her jokes and sassy as hell personality aside, he could see the deep hurt beneath everything else. _That_ was what spoke to him the most.

     Hoffman undid his seatbelt and exited the vehicle. Lia followed suit, leaving the warmth of the Jeep to spill out into the cold. Hoffman walked around to the back of the idling car, nearly running into her as she stopped short in front of him, arms crossed as she looked up at him.

     Throwing caution to the wind, taking that leap, Hoffman held out a gloved hand for her to shake. "Eye for an eye."

     The corner of Lia's mouth quirked up in a smile, and she took his gloved hand in her smaller, bare one, "You make it sound so cryptic. So, we gotta deal?"

     Sighing for the last time, wondering if he wasn't shooting himself in the foot, he replied, "It's a deal. Be ready at nine tomorrow night."


	11. The Otherside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Crawling through mud, what's the difference  
> When you come out on the other side?  
> Falling from grace, what's the difference  
> When you come out on the other side?"  
> ~ 'The Otherside' - Red Sun Rising

    At nine o'clock on the dot the very next night, Lia was waiting down by the entrance to her building, arms crossed over her chest even though she had her coat on. It wasn't her body that was cold - it was her hands that felt like they were about to fall off from the brutally icy winter night. She'd really have to look for her gloves soon. And her hat. Readjusting her purse on her shoulder, she saw a dark colored Jeep make the turn into her parking lot entrance, crunching over the ice that had gathered in the puddles on the drive. She shifted with a smirk, holding one arm out and giving a thumbs up, like she was a hitchhiker. He would not find that amusing, she already knew, but she did. The Jeep pulled up right next to the walkway where she stood, and sure enough, there was Mark Hoffman's un-amused face staring back at her through the window. He impatiently motioned for her to get in when she already had her hand on the door handle, barely giving her time to get in and close it before he was driving away.

    " _Whoa, jeez!_ " Lia quickly strapped her seatbelt on, "Hi, how are you? Nice to see you too!"

    "Lots of cops out tonight, we'll need to be extra careful," Was his response as he peered through the windshield with a crease between his eyebrows.

    "And I see you've got your crown of disguise on, that's good, good," She was referring to his baseball cap, which paired with the dark coat, made him look more suspicious than anything else. He threw her a glare and she smiled at him. The clock on the dashboard said 9:02, and she was going to rag on him for being late, but then her stomach growled loudly enough for both of them to hear, even over the engine of the car.

    "Christ, didn't you eat?" Hoffman glanced over at her again as he turned right onto the main road that would lead them out of town.

    "Yeah, earlier. You kidding? I never skip a meal,"

    She saw him turn to look at her once again before turning his gaze back onto the road ahead. It was almost like he kept looking to see if he could figure her out. Like she was a puzzle. "There's some stuff back at the house we can heat up." he commented.

    "Oh, we're going back there?" Lia didn't know what to expect out of tonight - she hadn't known exactly what would occur during the first phase of their plan. He was the one with experience doing things like this. For now, she was along for the ride.

    "Yeah, we're going to start searching through files from the precinct, see if any of the mug shots jog your memory."

    "You really think they will?" She held onto the door handle as he took the ramp onto the highway out of town a little too quick. "Or _he_ will, I mean. I don't remember what he looks like - I don't even remember if I saw his face before it happened, you know?"

    "Generally speaking, sometimes the victim just knows. I'd seen it a ton in my line of work. Sixth sense, definitely not impossible."

    Lia nodded in reply, "Okay. So we're going straight back to your place? How did you get the files without anyone noticing?"

    "I don't have them yet."

    Lia looked sharply at him, "So... What are we doing?"

    "We're going to go to the station and get them."

    "From the station? Like, the _police_ station?"

    "... _Yeah_?" He looked at her like he didn't know what the big deal was.

    "..." Lia leaned back against her seat, thinking for a moment before she spoke, "Do you _really_ think that's a good idea?"

    "It'll be fine, I worked there many a late night. There won't be that many cops on - most of the detectives will have gone home."

    "Except the ones that are obsessed with their work," she added.

    " _Right_ ," He shot her another look, which she ignored. She wondered if he'd ever look at her with anything other than anger or judgment. Maybe even _respect_ , if that wasn't too much to ask. She wondered weird things like this.

    "So, um, _how_ are you planning to get us in there? I mean, maybe if you put a mask over your face nobody will recognize you, but then they might think you're there to kill everyone..."

    " _I'm_ going in to get the files. _You're_ going to be the distraction."

    " _Ohhh_ , so _that's_ why you decided to bring me along, you sneaky bastard," Anger flared up in her chest, though she kept her tone purposefully light, "Now you can walk away unscathed and I can be thrown in the slammer."

    "No, that's not - What is with the jumping to the worst possible conclusion? I told you: An eye for an eye."

    "Yeah, well, if you try to pull anything just remember, I know your license plate number and I can give a detailed description of the inside of your house, so, fucking try me."

    "Lia," Hoffman huffed, "For one second, _listen_. We made a deal knowing that we'd need each other. _You_ need me to help you kill the people that wronged you. _I_ need you to help me figure out who John's other accomplice is."

    Lia shook her head, looking out the window, "I know. I _know_ this. But how am I supposed to hold up my end of the bargain when I don't even remember what the asshole who attacked me looks like?"

    "That's why we need those files. I'm going to grab a bunch of case files on left handed men that are known to getting a little violent. Chances are, this is not the first time he's done this."

    "How do you know he's left handed?" Lia asked. All of the back and forth was making her dizzy.

    He looked at her like she was dumb, "I read the report, remember?"

    "Well, _I_ didn't. Nobody tells me anything."

    Hoffman looked back at the road with an eye roll, "As if this car ride wasn't long enough already," he muttered under his breath.

    "Oh, shut the fuck up."

                                                                                                            *****

 

     "Alright, so, what's the plan again?"

    "We don't have one yet."

    "Right, so, don't you think we should _make_ one?"

    Hoffman sighed loudly through his nose, and it reminded her of a bull snorting, steam coming out of its nostrils. She thought about telling him this, but decided against it. He lifted the nighttime binoculars to his eyes, peering over at the entrance to the precinct for the umpteenth time. Lia made a face at him while he wasn't looking. She crossed her arms over her coat clad front in the car eat, staring out the window in front of them. They were about a block away from the station, so she couldn't see what he was seeing, but the bright lights in front of the large building made most of the area visible clearly to her from the distance they were at.

    "So," she said abruptly, unable to stand the suffocating silence, "You do this a lot?" He lifted the binoculars from his eyes to give her an inquiring glance, boarding on annoyed. She elaborated, "Stake outs? Sitting in cars and watching people?" It came out sounding a bit more accusatory than she wanted to, but just this once that was not her intention.

    "I used to more when I was a cop," Hoffman answered, bringing the binoculars back up to his eyes, "Once you get good at it you realize how helpful it can be. People act very differently when they don't know they're being watched."

    Lia nodded, considering his words, "What about me?"

    "..." Hoffman cut her another look, this one surprised. He practically dropped the binoculars too, to her amusement. "What?" he said.

    She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her features - he was actually flabbergasted. She felt triumphant. "What about me? When I didn't know I was being watched - did _I_ act differently?" If he'd taken a sip of something, he probably would've spit it out right then. While he continued to look at her he had yet to answer the question.

    Then, he composed himself and said: "Yeah, actually."

    Hmm. She would admit that she was sort of puzzled at this answer. She didn't think she acted any differently from one moment to the other. Maybe he was talking about how she was more relaxed when she was alone? No one around to judge, so you just did whatever you pleased in your own company - it was less stressful by far. She asked him, "How so?"

    "You're actually _quiet_ for five seconds."

    Lia actually felt her jaw drop, and she abruptly busted out into a fit of laughter. She didn't even care if he was being serious or if he was joking - she just found it hilarious. She was laughing so hard that she even saw Hoffman crack an amused smile beside her; he probably hadn't expected such an explosive reaction. She gave him points for this - major points. Anyone that could make her laugh like this had earned them.

    "You know," She wiped at a makeup-less eye, brushing away a tear, "That is the _absolute_ truth. One hundred percent!"

    Hoffman chuckled now, turning his head back to look out the window before them. The bright lights from in front of them illuminated the smile lines on his face - and she suspected he didn't often have those. He looked different when he smiled, she noted. Very different. His handsome face looked good with a smile.

    "I know," he responded with a shake of his head, "It was peaceful for once."

    "Oo _kayyyy_ ," If she'd known him better she would've punched him in the arm (good naturedly, of course), "We get it yo, ease up on the tone." Aside from their earlier encounter where she'd made him smile with the whole 'mom text message' mishap, she hadn't even known he _could_ smile, let alone laugh. _Weird_. "I didn't even know you smile, by the way," She took a verbal jab at him, since his smile was from a joke at her expense.

    Hoffman rolled his eyes, lifting the binoculars again. The ghost of that smile was still at the corners of his lips. He said, "So are we doing this, or what?"

    "Hell yeah," Lia responded, unbuckling her seatbelt, "What am I doing?"

    Hoffman thought for a moment, then spoke, "You're drunk, just came from the bar."

    Lia shrugged, "Knew it, I can live with that," She went to open the door to the car, "How long am I doing this for?"

    "I'll text you when it's time to go,"

    "Right on," Lia mock saluted him before opening the passenger door and exiting the vehicle, "Wish me luck." She closed the door and started her trek over to the precinct, making sure she was stumbling drunkenly along the way.

                                                                                                    *****

 

    

    Hoffman slipped quietly into the file room of the precinct, closing the door behind him without noise. He left the lights off but pulled his flashlight out of his pocket, flipping the lock on the door latch. He'd be able to hear if anyone unlocked it from inside - he would deal with that if it came down the line. In the meantime, he clicked on the flashlight and began his search through the aisles full of file boxes. Someone with his amount of years of experience under his belt would easily be able to judge which places to look first. He made a good criminal because he had knowledge of the law. He still thought the word _criminal_ was too strong of a label for himself. He saws it more as a _vigilante_ ; taking matters into his own hands. A surveyor of justice. Someone who would do whatever it took to make sure that the real criminals were dealt with. The justice system, he felt, was too soft at times. And the way convicted murderers could be let off on technicalities? Bullshit. Complete _bullshit_. His mind always wandered back to Angelina; to how much pain he felt at the loss of her. How she'd been so horrifically taken from him. Hoffman was a lot of things, and a damn good cop was one of them. Even before Angelina's death, he would have done anything to help preserve the safety of others. Detective was in his blood - this was all he'd ever seen himself as. When he met John Kramer, he'd been shown an entirely different way to prevent the scum of this world from continuing their sick games - by turning their sick games unto them.

    If Angelina was watching over him now, she probably thought he was insane, but he hoped that deep down she understood. This was all for her. All for the people who had suffered at the hands of others; those who could not control their insatiable greed. He was helping to put an end to it. No matter what had happened between them in the end, he was forever grateful to John for showing him that there was another way. _Do unto others as they've done unto you_ , or however that went. It was true. And even though the real Jigsaw was dead, he had an heir to the throne of carnage. Amanda had always thought it would be her. _Stupid bitch_. She was always going to fail John - she had even before she'd met him. Hoffman knew she was too soft to be the brick wall criminals needed to come down on their heads. She was a criminal herself, after all. She was never going to be what John needed, and neither was his bitch wife. _That_ may have been an unfair sentiment for Jill, but she did try to kill him once, for which he couldn't forgive her. Or John. After all he'd done for them... No, he wasn't going to go there now.

    He returned to the exit with a handful of files, which he hastily stuffed into his drawstring knapsack he had taken to help him carry items. This was a good start, and they could always come back for more. Even if their guy wasn't in any of these files, it was a start somewhere. The business of beating the shit out of someone for money. This, however, hit way too close to home to be a coincidence. _Way_ too close.

    Hoffman slipped back out into the hallway, not surprised to find that he was still alone in this part of the precinct. He'd worked many a late night here, and the fortress was, quote " _impregnable_ ", so patrols were not done consistently after hours like they should have been. There were also cameras stationed at every entrance, so as long as someone was sitting in the control room, there was really no need for patrols, right? _Wrong_.

     He knew his way around every inch of this place - he knew the weakest points in the carefully fortified structure of cop hierarchy. He was stubborn.

    Speaking of stubborn, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to shoot Lia a text, signaling to wrap things up. They'd exchanged numbers before she'd exited the car and 'drunkenly' stumbled down the sidewalk. She'd proved to be entertaining, that was for sure. She also kind of gave him the heebie jeebies, if he was being totally honest. She was so serious when she talked about her certainty of wanting to kill the people that had wronged her; and when she'd asked him what it had been like watching her. Who _did_ that? She may have been a little bit psychotic. That would not surprise him. Hell, _he_ was probably considered to be a little bit psychotic for what he'd done as well. Truth and determination could make people do crazy things. Especially if one had an imagination like John Kramer.

     _That's_ what it had reminded him of when she'd looked at him so calmly and asked the most absurd questions. John. He knew there was no possible connection between the two, just similarities every once in a while; her demeanor when talking about the cold, hard truth, her determination to rectify a given situation, her approachability... Maybe that was the real reason why he'd agreed to this farce. Maybe her attention to detail and quick wit really could help him after all.

    He strode quickly and quietly down the dim hallway towards the back entrance to the facility. If he'd timed it right, the normal guard in the control room would be so occupied watching the nightly _Cops_ re-runs that he wouldn't notice Hoffman had gotten rid of the camera that normally monitored it.

 

                                                                                                *****

 

     Lia felt her phone buzz in her pocket. _Go time_.

    "Alright, alright, imma head back to the bar," She unclamped her arm from the shoulders of the poor officer she'd been leaning on heavily. "I needa drink - been a long day." The three officers that she'd been entertaining all looked at one another, then at her. "Anybody know if my man's done in the bathroom yet?" She stumbled back on the icy pavement ( _that_ hadn't been an accident; get some _salt_ , losers!!), and all three officers jumped as though ready to catch her if she should fall. "I think I'm gonna need the facilities too..." she slurred, patting the oldest officer with the grey moustache on the butt before turning to walk away.

    She feared that they might've tried to stop her, but they seemed relieved that she was finally leaving.


	12. Amanda's Theme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amanda's Theme - Saw III Soundtrack

     "Naah, that's not him," Lia said around a mouthful of Chinese food. Hoffman held up yet another sheet of paper with a mug shot on it towards her, and at her dismissal he put it facedown in the ever growing file of 'that's not him'. He did this while munching on his own Chinese food. He had a few things in the cupboards here at the old house - and a lot of frozen things in the freezer. He had yet to do a major grocery shopping trip, which was difficult when you were a wanted man. By the time Lia had gotten back to the car after her stint, they'd both been starving. When she'd climbed into the heating up vehicle, she'd muttered something about  _I could really go for some fried cheese wonton right about now_ , and Hoffman had agreed with a sharp pang of hunger at the mention of food. 

     So now, here they were, on the floor in the living room in his pseudo home, three space heaters surrounding them as they sifted through case files of left handed convicted criminals... while eating fried rice and egg roles. 

     "Not him," Lia swallowed a mouthful of egg roll, shaking her head and setting her plate down on the floor, "Too big... and too  _smokin'_. What's his name?" She playfully leaned her head closer to the paper, and Hoffman rolled his eyes at her antics. This, really, was getting them nowhere. He added this to the pile as well. "I feel like this shit isn't getting us anywhere." Lia voiced his opinion out loud. Well, at least they were on the same page. "Have you noticed anything that looks promising?" she asked, taking a sip of her can of Coke, "In relation to John, I mean."

     Opening another packet of soy sauce and sprinkling it onto his rice - he ate his straight out of the carton. Lia had snorted and said he was a typical cop when she saw that. Well, she wasn't wrong. 

     Hoffman suddenly felt a sting of remorse for his old life. He had loved being a cop. Loved everything about it. He  _missed_ it. Unfortunately, it was not as fulfilling as his work now. He'd gotten a hell of a lot more done in the few months that he'd been working with John Kramer than in the twenty plus years he'd been a cop.  _That_ was a sad fact. 

     Taking a bite of the rice, he shook his head in answer to her question, "No. Not sure what I was expecting, but whatever it was, I haven't found it yet."

     Lia sighed hard, looking around at the organized chaos on the rug around them. "I wonder if we made a mistake."

     "We can always go back for more," Hoffman replied, though he wasn't sure if that would help them anymore than what they were already doing. He looked at her and inquired, "Why don't we just find your 'friends' and make them tell us who they hired? Be a lot quicker that way." 

     "You know, I thought about it, but... I don't know," She looked down at the ground before her, at the piles of paperwork there. 

     Hoffman was confused, "So you're ready to  _kill_ them, but you can't go through with getting some information out of them?" 

     "No - That's not what the problem is." Lia shot back, glaring at him. She looked a bit flustered. 

     "Then what is it? There can't be any cold feet when it comes to this. You either commit fully or back down." 

     "I  _know! Jesus!_ I am committed!"

     "Then what the hell is the problem?"

     Lia dropped her shoulders, "I wanna save them for last, you know? I want them to be it - the end of everything; once they're gone I can finally move on with my life."

     "And what happens then? When you move on with your life?" 

     "I move on! I recover!"

     "Can't you do that now? What are you _playing_ at, Lia?" 

     Now she looked angry; incredulous that he would insinuate that he wasn't taking her seriously. 

     "I'm not  _playing_ anything - I'm the one who asked you to help me kill two people! What about that is so difficult for you to understand!" 

     Hoffman gave her a doubtful look, lifting his chin at her, "Don't kid me, Hunt. You're not a killer." 

     "No, I'm  _not_. But  _you_ are!" Her eyes blazed with very real anger. "Scum and  _cop_ killer - do you flip coins first or just go with whatever you feel like doing on any given day?" 

     Hoffman didn't answer, because he had already lunged at her across the paper covered floor, tugging a switchblade out of his pocket and thrusting it towards her throat.


	13. Remember the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've got this blood on my hands  
> It's bittersweet  
> I'm sinking in the quicksand  
> Slowly I need what's left of  
> This shell of me  
> Its fucking time to get up  
> (Get up, get up, get up)"  
> ~ 'Remember the Enemy' - Ded

     Lia had been expecting his anger - she'd been encouraging it, stoking the flame, purposely trying to make him mad. Her intent was clear, and they both knew it.  
  
     She had to admit, though, that she was very taken aback by him lunging at her with such ferocity. He'd seemed like he was well disciplined in the 'self restraint' department - most cops probably had to be. So while she'd expected him to be mad, she hadn't anticipated him _going_ mad.  
  
     The force of him coming at her quite literally knocked her back on the rug, across folders and files of paperwork scattered around them. She saw the glint of the knife in his hand before she could really process what it was, and by then she was already on the floor with him crouched over her, holding the sharp blade to her neck.  
  
     She was so surprised that she couldn't even come up with anything to say. She stared up at him in shock, and he glared down at her, fury in his eyes. So, maybe she'd gone a little too far this time. Maybe. If he killed her than she'd know for sure that she'd pushed the boundaries too damn far. She always knew this day would come. For whatever reason, though, the thought of death did not disturb her. Maybe it was become she'd come so close to it not too long ago. The abyss had had her within its grasp, and she'd come back from it. What was there really to fear? What, up in heaven (or hell, if that was where she was headed) could be worse than what was on this earth?  
  
     So while she was taken aback, she did not fear whatever he had in store for her. She'd already made peace with it.  
  
                                                                                                                                *********************************  
  
     She was not afraid of him.  
  
     Here he was, ready to kill her for her words, angry enough to actually do it. In a split moment he was able to consider every pro and con of keeping her alive vs. killing her. It was something he prided himself on; his quick mindedness. It had come in handy when he'd been a detective - it came in handy now, too. Now that he was a vigilante. And in this moment, he'd decided he was going to kill her. He didn't need her help - he could draw connections on his own. If her attacker was somehow related to John's other accomplice, he would figure it out. It would be a bit harder, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He didn't need her.  
  
     Instead of the fear in her eyes he'd expected, there had been surprise, and then what appeared to be... resignation.  
  
     He remembered reading in her personal file that she suffered from depression and anxiety; a horrible combination. Admittedly, it was difficult to imagine this cheerful, enthusiastic woman experiencing prolonged sadness. However, he knew in his line of work that just about anyone could hide just about anything. Everyone had secrets; everyone had darkness. Some were better at concealing it than others. When Angelina had been murdered, he'd fallen into a deep misery that no amount of counseling and/or drinking (quite heavily) could mend. He hadn't been able to hide the severity of it from anyone - it had taken over his life. Even now, years later, it felt as though a part of him still remained in that dark place - now it was easier to deal with it. He'd lived with it for a while, knew what triggered it, knew how it thought. He was usually able to work through it by working; by being productive, it took his mind off of it. Did Lia feel the same? How long had she lived with this? What had started it?  
  
     Did she want to die?  
  
                                                                                                                   ********************  
  
     Lia wondered if he thought it was desperation making her eyes glassy, and perhaps it was.  
  
     She was not unfamiliar with the feel of a knife against her skin. She had one faded, very discreet scar on her left inner forearm as proof. That was the only mark she'd ever left, and it was only because she wanted to be able to look at it and see her own mortality. See how destructible people really were. More often than not, she had thought of digging that blade just a little deeper. What bad could come out of that?

     If it was her decision, who had the right to judge her? Only God, but she had a feeling that he would forgive her. He had been the only one to stand by her through all of the pain this life had brought on. Why not move on to the next one?  
  
     There were complications with that, as with most everything in life. There were people she didn't want to leave, even if they couldn't understand what plagued her. There were things that she still wanted to experience. She'd also, however, always been a big believer in _everything happens for a reason; what's meant to happen will happen._ Maybe a few weeks back she wasn't supposed to survive. Maybe this was it. Staring up at Mark Hoffman crouched over her, feeling the knife against her throat, she pondered this thought. Was this the plan in store for her? Was she supposed to meet up with this man because he was meant to kill her?  
  
    Then, without any further prompting, Hoffman pulled the knife away from her neck and sat back on the rug, releasing her.  
  
  
  
                           ******"****  
  
    He wouldn't do it.  
  
     He'd made his decision. He would not let this woman plague his thoughts by giving in to her. There were very few people that he continued to think about after he'd killed them (or after their own decisions had led them to kill themselves): Seth Baxter, Lindsey Perez, and Peter Straham. Amelia Hunt would not be added to that list. He would not let her. So he took the knife away from her throat and moved off of her. In the midst of all of this, it occurred to him that this was the second time in two days that they'd had close physical contact. Of all the strange thoughts that would pop into his head at this moment...  
  
     Lia actually looked more surprised now that he'd gotten off of her - more  than she had been when he'd first lunged at her. What was that look in her eyes now? He was having trouble telling. She laid right where she had been when she'd fallen back, propped up on her elbows over the hundreds of pictures scattered across the dirty rug around them. There was a weird energy now, surrounding them in the room. Difficult to put a finger on, but it was definitely there.  
  
   Hoffman was tired, all of a sudden. He hadn't slept much lately, and when he did it was very restless. Today had been a long day, planning and preparing for tonight; he'd done it all by himself. But in Lia's defense, he hadn't wanted her help, nor did he think she would've been much help, simply because she didn't know the inner workings of a police station. He was ready to collapse onto that dingy mattress in "his" room and sleep for a week. It was unlikely that he'd get more than a few hours, but he'd take what he could get. Dealing with this girl sucked all of the energy out of him.  
  
     "We can pick up the rest tomorrow," he sighed, exhaustion lacing his voice, "I'll take you home."  
  


 


	14. Roots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I bite down a little harder  
> My blade's a little sharper  
> My roots  
> My roots  
> Run deep into the hollow."  
> \- 'Roots' ~ In This Moment

     Lia laid awake in her bed for a long time after Hoffman dropped her off back at her apartment. Her mind would not shut off - she was having trouble focusing on the prospect of sleep rather than everything else that was happening right now. She was exhausted, but no matter how long her eyes were shut for, or how much she willed the darkness to wash over her, sleep would not come. 

     All she could think about was Mark Hoffman pulling the knife away from her throat. The Jigsaw killer had her by the neck, ready to take her life... and he hadn't. 

      _Why?_

Her confusion rattled around in her brain like beans in a maraca. What was even the point of them working together? He didn't need her help - he'd made that clear. He probably hadn't killed her only because he felt sorry for her. 

     The feeling she dealt with now was akin to defeat. What was she going to do just by herself? She didn't have the experience he had - the experience  _killing_. What if she tried to do this herself and something went wrong? What if she got arrested? Thought after thought of what could go wrong spread through her mind like wildfire. Was she really cut out for this type of thing? 

     Hoffman had most likely been humoring her when he had agreed to her plan. Maybe he'd wanted to kill her all along - erase any possible evidence of another person who may or may not have known anything about him. Which she  _didn't_ , but he'd already proven that he didn't trust her. Why would he believe her? Why had she believed  _him_ _?_  She felt ashamed that she had shared this secret; this need for revenge with another person, and he had blown her off like it didn't matter at all. 

      _Well_ _,_  she thought with bitter resolve, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling; it may not have mattered to him, but it mattered to her. It was her life. Not Marie's, not Ellis', not her drunk mothers, and  _definitely_ not Mark Hoffman's. 

     Since she couldn't sleep, she pushed back the covers and rose from the mattress. With the lights off, she walked over to her closet. She could see everything in her room faintly from the glow of the streetlights streaming in through the windows. If sleep wasn't going to come, then she was going to make sure her time wasn't wasted. She found a pair of dark sweatpants hanging up, as well as a black sweatshirt. Out of her gym bag, she grabbed three bandanas and stuffed them down her shirt after she'd changed out of her pajamas. Soundlessly, she exited her room, closing the door behind her, knowing her mother would never know she was gone. Without having to turn on any of the lights, she knew exactly where to walk without stubbing her toes on anything; the table in the middle of the living room, the laundry basket up against the wall, overflowing with clothes. From underneath the chair right next to the entryway to her apartment, she grabbed her purse. She didn't plan on taking the whole thing - she wouldn't need it. She just rifled through it until she found her knife. 

                                                                                      ********************************

     

          Despite being exhausted, Hoffman only slept for what felt like an hour before he awoke once again, staring up at the ceiling. Only this time, he felt unsettled. He felt... regret? Was that accurate? It didn't matter; whatever it was made him uncomfortable. He didn't like it.

     It was Lia's fault; most everything lately had been. How that young woman lying at the edge of the warehouse property,  _dead,_ or so he'd thought, had turned out to be one of the biggest pains in the ass of his  _life_ _,_ he had no idea. All he knew was that he'd had trouble clearing her intentions from his mind since the moment he'd met her. Upon visiting her in the hospital, seeing the damage of the brutality inflicted on her, he had thought that if he'd been put in that position, he'd want to kill whomever was responsible as well. He had  _not_ expected a young woman with no history of violence to share that same thought pattern.  _What the hell is the world teaching these kids?_ Not that she was really a kid, but she was younger than him by about twenty years, so to him she was. And also, it wasn't like he hadn't already run across a lot of angry young adults with vengeance on their minds, but still... Lia Hunt made him wonder. She certainly challenged him in every way, straight down to the utter opposition of their personalities. Whereas he was quiet, stoic, kept to himself unless otherwise engaged, judgmental, she was outgoing, almost childlike in her humor, vibrant... He was a shadow colored grey, and she was a colorful thing. They could not be more different. However, both of them shared the same unwillingness to compromise, which meant their already conflicting personalities clashed further. 

     He didn't need Lia to help him. He'd already made that decision a few hours ago when he'd almost cut her throat. She may be telling the truth and not have anything to do with John Kramer or 'Jigsaw' whatsoever. He was almost a hundred percent sure she meant what she said, but then again, one could never be too careful. Especially when it came to the fate of possibly having a reverse bear-trap closed over his face again. He'd never needed anyone but himself. He'd thought he'd needed Angelina, but when she'd been taken from him he'd discovered a raging strength that showed him he'd never have to need anyone ever again. He could count on himself and that was enough. He could work this out all on his own. 

     Another hour went by with him trying to get back to sleep, and at that point he finally decided to get up, annoyed. He hated wasting time, and trying to fall asleep when you couldn't was the biggest waste of time in the world. There were other things he could do; things that were more productive than lying there wondering. 

                                                                                      ***********************************

 

     The bus was mostly empty tonight - which didn't surprise her much, considering it was three in the morning. She didn't usually do this though, so who knew? Maybe the bus got busy at this hour, especially on a Friday night. 

     Looking at the time once again, it still surprised her that it had only been one night with Mark Hoffman for a few hours. It felt like they'd experienced a months worth of emotions in this short amount of time. Not only emotions, but other stuff. They'd gotten shit done, but nothing had really gotten  _done_ done. Like, the turkey was still raw, at this point. They had a long way to go before this was even close to being done.

     That was fine, though. It didn't really matter anymore. She was going to finish it now. She wouldn't have to worry about any of it from here on - tonight it was going to end for good. 

     She pretty much memorized the route this particular bus traveled - she'd had to hop on it every morning during her two years of college (before she'd dropped out). That was how she'd met Marie. She'd ridden the bus to commute as well. This bus drove by a few different student apartment complexes, one of which Marie and Ellis lived in. They'd both gone to the school, and had conveniently found their apartment complex not far from campus. There was a bus stop right on the corner by the parking lot for the complex. Hands in her pockets, she could still feel the outline of her tiny knife with her gloves on. She had tied one of the bandanas over her head - the black one - and pulled up her hood. Any other person would just assume that she was cold. They didn't know that she was going to pull that thing off her head and stuff it in Marie's mouth so nobody would hear her scream. If she could've mustered a smirk, she would've - how many people rode the bus with a psychopath every day and had no idea? How many people passed one on the street and said _hi_ to them? Who would ever suspect  _her_ , anyways? She felt the determination in her blood, making her aware, but also strangely calm. Calm enough to not laugh out loud at describing herself as a  _psychopath_.

     She'd brought two more bandanas so she could take care of the boys. One for Ellis, and, if she ended up needing it, one for Marie's fiance. He was a good man - Lia didn't want to hurt him. But she also didn't want him to try and stop her. He was a good man, but he'd sided with the wrong person. If he knew what Marie had done, then he'd just stood by and let it happen. Lia couldn't afford to make any mistakes - if he was there and tried to defend Marie and Ellis, then she'd have to deal with him the same way.  _Sorry Mike, but if it's between you and me, you lose. You all do_. 

     The bus rolled up to her stop, and she reached up to pull on the wire that would signify she wanted the driver to pull over. The driver stopped the bus, and Lia noticed a few people at the bus stop, waiting to board.  _Perfect_ , he'd be preoccupied with them enough to not notice who she was. The driver opened the middle side-doors to let her off while the people waiting at the stop began to climb up the main steps at the front of the bus. "Thank you," she called to the driver, exiting the bus. Her heart was pounding now,  _hard_ in her chest. Her knees shook with every step she took towards the complex. It wasn't from the cold. 

                                                                                         ***********************************

 

     " _Hey it's Lia, leave a message and I'll call you back soon. Byeeeee_." 

     Hoffman sighed as the phone went to voicemail once again. Maybe she had the ringer turned off. Hell, she was probably asleep anyways - it was nearly three in the morning. He didn't even know why he was calling her; why he'd tried two more times after she didn't answer the first time. He wanted to talk to her about earlier. Maybe he even wanted to apologize? He didn't know, but the quiet here was too loud, and the tension from earlier still hung in the air.

     After the beep, he said, "Lia, it's Hoffman. I wanted to talk to you about... tomorrow. About what time we'll be meeting up. So give me a call when you get this - doesn't matter what time. I'll be up. Uh, thanks. Bye." He shook his head as he hung up - he sounded like a cop again, following up on a lead. Gone were those days. 

     Because he was his paranoid self, he grabbed his laptop off of the side table next to the bed and flipped open the top, powering up the device. Against her knowledge, he'd placed a tracer on her phone. She'd kill him if she knew. He pulled up a window with the tracker application, and a map appeared on the screen. It was from an aerial view; some satellite orbiting high above the earth allowing him to see this. He imagined in a few years time, things would be even more advanced.  _Good God_. Jigsaw's next act might have to be  beaming people up into a spaceship... if he was still around then. John Kramer's work may have been completed, but Mark Hoffman's was not. And, actually, John's work would only be complete if his  _other_ helper managed to kill Hoffman. Which he was  _not_ going to let happen. 

     He noted with a start that Lia's phone showed that she was in transit somewhere, and he doubted that it got up and walked out of her apartment on its own. "Fuck," He clicked on the dot to expand the location, and it looked like she was by the college a few blocks away from her home. Thinking back, he remembered her mentioning that the 'friends' who had hired a gun to kill her had an apartment by the university.

     That was his last cohesive thought as he leapt out of the bed like a ghost was on his heels. A ghost named Amelia Hunt. 

                                                                                          ************************************

 

     It was like an out of body experience she was feeling as she walked across the parking lot towards the apartment complex. Kind of like she was just floating through space and time. She was  _really_ about to do this.

     The chill in the air was nearly unbearable now that the wind was blowing. She'd thought about wrapping one of the bandanas around her face like they did in the movies, but she didn't want to look suspicious. There were cameras in the corners of the buildings, on the outside and inside the overhanging areas. They weren't the greatest places to live, but they weren't too expensive since a lot of it was student housing. Pretty much, you got what you paid for. Even still, Lia had been looking into moving here. She and Marie had talked about it many times; about how perfect it would be. All of that had gone up in smoke now. Real friends didn't try to have you killed. Rather, beaten to within an inch of your life, and then left for dead.

     The cold in the air made her black eye ache. Now, she wasn't wearing any makeup to cover it. She intended to rub it in their faces when she saw them in a few moments. Not literally, but to show them that she'd survived their sorry stupid ass attempt to get rid of her.

     She paused by one of the outer staircases that would lead to the balcony-like landing where the second floor apartments were. She debated who to get first. Marie and then drag her upstairs? Or Ellis and then drag him downstairs? When she thought of it like that, there was really no contesting the obvious. Ellis was a bit overweight, but it would be much easier to roll him downstairs rather than drag Marie and Mike upstairs. She wanted them all in the same room when she revealed what she would do to them. And then she would begin. 

     


End file.
